Vampire Hunter D: The Storm
by Soul of Ashes
Summary: Miranda Delaclaire, 39, is a determined huntress who endorses the help of D to combat the demon that changed her life, rekindling old passions and secrets that have been buried for centuries. Nudity,Gore
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday.

Author's Note: Be brutal; be kind; be whatever you wish. Read and review, or just read.

* * *

**_Introduction: _**_These are dark times for the Frontier. A series of violent thunderstorms have swept across the north eastern temperate reaches of the land, setting long acres of forests ablaze, turning the sky tar black and flooding others. In a time of desperation, a lone huntress, Miranda Delaclaire, must face an enemy, but after years of tracking him down, can she finally confront him alone? At this time, D was summoned to her side, rekindling the sordid curiosity that afflicted her so many years ago..._

_So D rode forth into the storm, toward the center of the whirlwind - to the eye, where an apparently peaceful Valley lay under the scorching heat of a red sun..._

* * *

Vampire Hunter D: The Storm

By Soul of Ashes

In the Coel Valley, beneath the scorching heat ofa sun flanked by tall, bulbous clouds - which looked like a wall of faces with huge, beseeching eyes- a lone horse rode forward along the road, having entered through the only narrow, stone-choked pass that made the valley accessible to travelers. To the north grew a forest of trees so tall and so thick together, it seemed just a dark blotch on the horizon, nearly invisible against the stones of the mountains just beyond the leafed hem.

It was late afternoon and the bright orange flowers that carpeted the hills to the left glittered and swayed with dew from a rainstorm that had passed by briefly just a few moments before. The rider, however, did not look up; instead shekept eyes to the road ahead, senses alert.

Miranda Delaclaire thought to herself what a reasonably refreshing change this place was to the last town she'd been to. _Not a drop of water to be had, every single man an unforgivable rapist or murderer. Yet they could not but help to employ my sword for their cause. If it hadn't been for the goddamn money... _

But it was always the money she needed. Twenty-thousand dollars. That wasn't a whole hell of a lot to buy what she needed for repairs. There wasn't a pharmacist for miles or even a rudimentary medicine man. It all came down to one thing - if there wasn't anyone in this town ahead, it would take her four or five days to leave the valley the way she came and by then, her functions might be far too near unsatisfactory for her survival.

So far, it looked promising. On her way in, there was a tractor trailer pulling a wagon load of grain. There were well-maintained fields and people wearing decent enough clothes. They looked well-fed with healthy tans bronzing their skin. There was even a dark-skinned man the color of the fertile soil who looked up and stared as she drew near and her horse trotted past. They were mildly distrustful of her - a woman dressed in black and grays, her eyes unnaturally green, gleaming as though filled with the fires of old hells and torments. Hair as black as the depths of Satan's soul adorned her head, tied back in a thickly knotted plait with a few loose strands blowing back and forth in the taunting wind. Her visage was enough to set people's teeth chattering.

Miranda knew that it was not she that could not be trusted.

She had followed the signs for miles since that miserable town full of murders and con-men. That dark day was well behind her by sixteen years, and was blurred around the edges like a faded photograph. Each day she spent away from that awful place where it had changed - ruined, even - her life was a moment of bliss. Miranda was doing a job she hated and loved, though she could not put her ambiguity into words. All she needed to understand was the destruction of all monsters: vampires, werewolves, anything that needed to be dealt a swift death.

Although any time spent away from her son was a torment. That was the memory that haunted her to the most.

The last time she saw her beautiful boy, he was at least four years old and clinging to the arms of Miranda's step-mother Georgina. She remembered that memory so clearly that at night she wept oily tears of regret and anger and sorrow. Chase had been crying, clawing to get away from the "monster" that was his mother, the creature half-metal that was borne of an attack. His eyes had been red, cheeks puffy like cottage cheese and the tip of his nose rosy and flushed. There were no words to make the boy understand; Miranda had tried, oh gods, had she ever tried to talk to him, to assure him it was still her.

But the damage had been done. Chase would never look at Miranda as a human being. He had left home to spend time with other family and came home to find his father dead, and this ungainly, metal wretch in his mother's place.

_It doesn't matter_, Miranda told herself angrily. _It doesn't do me any good to linger on those thoughts. He's past twenty now, and I can only hope that at least he's found a good girl to care for. I don't have to bargain with him for my love after he's grown._

She was never quite the same woman after that. She never spoke to what remained of her family again. Her parents lived far out on the Frontier in a little town of about twenty people. Judging from what the monster who tore her apart had said, they were slaughtered as well, leaving that part of her life as nothing more than a dusty, black-and-white memory. She never failed to notice the resentment from her dead husband's relatives, either. So, with the rest of her money that remained to her, she paid for cybernetic enhancements that gave her strength, agility, stamina and began to train herself more ruthlessly than before to defend not only herself, but others.

Sixteen years of hunting had brought her this far. But nowhere nearer to the monster that destroyed her life. Yet this was as far as her travels had taken her. Miranda had never been able to track the monster with only days separating their progress.

She arrived at the town around sunset, which was just as well because there was a huge wall guarding off beasts of the night. She encountered guardsmen as they were closing the gate. As she approached, they looked up. They were two tall, strong-armed men in over-alls and long jackets and were equipped with power rifles; good signs that this town was healthy.

_Find the pharmacist. Kill the monster. That's all I want, God, please._

She shifted slightly in her saddle. The cyborg steed beneath her gave a slight shake of its head before it was still. She held up her hands, noticing that the men's eyes were drawn to the sword on her back, not her shapely form, which was hidden beneath her cloak.

"I'm a monster-Vampire Hunter, Miranda. I come calling for provisions--"

"You come for that monster, haven't you?" interrupted one of the men, giving an anxious glance over his dirt-smudged jacketed shoulder.

_I must be in luck._ "Yes. Tell me more." Anxiety made her lean forward slightly in her saddle, her human hand clenching the reins with dark, eager hunger.

Somewhere from the deepening shadows behind her, there came a low rustle in the grass, followed by a hissing like that of air through a tire. The men trembled and waved her to proceed.

"You'd better come inside first. Don't worry, we know your kind. You're sorely needed, stranger. We'll introduce you to the mayor; he'll tell you all about it."

* * *

The town was well-organized, the community tightly-knit. There were about sixteen houses, all in neat, loosely-packed rows. The main house ahead was connected to two side structures in the shape of a sideways letter-I. It had huge, wing-like doors with a bell-tower on the eastern sector that started to ring up there in the dark as the lights turned on throughout the block. Crosses were on the doors that hadn't seen a vampire in decades but were too valuable to take down. 

The mayor, a man named Venson (a name she smirked at, thinking it a fitting name), welcomed her joyfully into his home which happened to be a section of the large house at the end of town. Her horse safe in the stables, she sat across from him in a large library room that was modest and devoid of unnecessary glam. He was a kind, generous mayor who did not adorn his huge house with many things but rather let most of the towns folk also live in the mansion, which doubled as a hospital on the opposite wing.

Before jumping to any conclusions, Miranda listened to the mayor's story. _I hope it is good news. I can't stand another minute without my meds. My skin is already itching._

"So this monster of yours--"

The willowy man with graying hair wandered to the bar. He offered her a drink, which she declined, before he sat down, downing his glass in one big, desperate gulp for courage. "Alright, Miss Miranda--"

"Just Miranda." When people struggled to be gentlemanly when it wasn't required, it made her terribly irate. "Just tell me."

"Miranda, then. This monster had been troubling us for only about a day. One of our farmers has gone missing. His corpse was found yesterday, devoured... as if..."

Miranda nodded slowly; she suddenly felt a stinging in her legs. Her expression, somehow, didn't change at all even if she knew any other time alone and she would have cried out. The memory of the pain was hardest to erase.

"...you get the idea."

"Has anyone seen it yet?"

"All I know is that in any sort of light, it's absolutely black. Like a shadow of some kind. And it doesn't speak, so it's not presumed to be some kinda human or mutie."

"Not many monsters do, Mayor Venson." Miranda took a deep breath, giving herself a moment. Yes, she remembered that night - why must it always be night? - when the creature had taken her life away, along with her legs and her left arm, its mechanical replacement hidden at her side underneath her cloak, sheathed in a leathery glove.

"Because this is a vendetta of my own, you needn't pay me if you don't want to. But I do require... medical assistance before I can be of any use. It won't be difficult."

Venson's eyes squinted slightly, as if he could hardly believe a strong woman such as Miranda needed anything at all. "What is it Miss-- ah, Miranda?"

"A pharmacy. I need antibiotics and a certain kind of medicine. I must speak with the pharmacist to discuss it with him."

"Of course. I will give you directions."

Without a word, she took the directions and stood stiffly, her joints strangely aching where they shouldn't be. She walked out, shutting the door with a snap-click behind her.

She rested her pains away in her bedroom that night, eyes wide open, sleepless, restless, and full of memories. Miranda tossed her head to one side, a single lock of black hair splashing across the white, flower-printed sheets. In the dark, she could hear her heart beating against the soft ambience of the old mansion. The noises did nothing to disturb her. It was just--

Everything seemed to be catching up with her. She was thirty-nine years old. She had finally, finally caught up with an enormous piece of her past.

_So you're hoping to put that chapter of your life away for good. What then?_ the cynical, dark side of her asked. _What will you do with the rest of your pathetically lonely existence as a single woman, minus one child who hates you? Will you hunt until you finally drop dead of some physical ailment or will you grow into a creepy old cyborg enhanced granny--_

"Ridiculous!" she spat, walking away from the pharmacist after taking the thirty milliliters of antibiotic and some other things, a concoction purely intended to keep her body from dying outright. Long years of toil and bloodshed and plenty of tears - that was her legacy. And she had no one to give it to, no way to exonerate herself from it except by talking to herself in her head and enduring that stupid part of herself she wished she could hack off, like an unwanted remaining limb.

The taste of the medicine was still sour on her tongue when she stopped. Senses, enhanced many times more than a regular human's, fired warning signals from all ends. But it was absolutely silent. She looked around slowly. The mayor had insisted the walls kept out anything and that the killing had been made in the farm fields.

Miranda continued on. It was broad daylight, and anyone who had things to do were out in the fields to bring in harvest. The clouds overhead churned dangerously as if the storm over the countryside threatened to drop its burdensome load on the unsuspecting townsfolk.

There, at the end of an alley between two particularly close buildings was the dark creature whom Venson had described. It was hunched over, slowly devouring what looked like a large doll. But it was no doll at all; blood pooled, half-coagulated, under the monsters feet and although it was pure daytime, it seemed mildly unaffected by the beams of light spilling in to illuminate it.

And when it raised its misshapen, black head, her sword was already half-way from its sheath. Fear was not something she felt lately. Death was an uninvited, annoying culprit to her spirit and should he come steal her away, she'd only fight clawing and biting to reclaim her right to avenge her black little soul. Her sword flew, flashing as fast enhanced muscles could imbue it--

And missed.

And _perhaps I should be afraid_ was the thought that crossed her mind as the creature nimbly danced out from beneath the glare of that sword and seized hold with both of its arms, capturing the blade in an ugly grip. It nearly twisted the blade off but she managed to hold on, lifted clear off the ground by the sheer strength of her demon.

Miranda had no choice but to let go of the blade. Tumbling to the ground, she rolled back gracefully to her feet in cat-like form, her leg snapping out to catch the monster's feet right out from under it. The creature fell, sword clattering to the ground, alarmed at her speed and maybe more alarmed that she was almost on top of it, a dagger blade at its heart, a blade made of blessed silver. In the next instant she was immediately struck in the back with something hard, her bones creaking in their wretchedly old age as soon as she fell to her face, knocked flat against the hard, blood-stained ground. There was a gunshot, and the sheriff ran up to her.

The embarrassing position was an affront to her pride, although she stood up again, unruffled, retrieving her sword and sheathing it. It was not an unnecessarily ridiculous thing when the sheriff walked up to her and asked her if she was alright.

She nodded, pointing to the half-devoured girl. Her cheeks flushed angrily. "I was too late. I was just coming back to do an investigation near the farm where the man was killed... and this is what I came across."

"I saw. It wasn't alone, either."

_Damn. Of all the rotten luck -- the piss-ant had to make friends, didn't it? _Clenching her hands, teeth grit with barely repressed frustration, she glared at the two men from under the fringe of hair that nearly fell across her vision.

"Well, if there's two of them... do you think you can take them on by yourself, princess?"

"I would have--" she found herself snarling, but then gave it up as a bad job. It wasn't as if her words would make it come true - in fact, she often found the very opposite to be a hard-learned lesson.

So she quietly, calmly accepted the truth. It stung in her mouth as the words tumbled haphazardly free. "Then we need to hire another hunter to help me, and I know just the one."

Later on, after the message had been sent out by the fastest means possible, Miranda lay awake in the dark, trying to recover her senses and tame her wildly rampaging emotions into some sort of calm, she felt a strangely familiar wetness stain her cheeks. She wiped at her eyes, drawing a shaky breath, and thought of the dark, quiet man who had also changed her life, by saving it.

"D."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name...

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

**_Introduction: _**_These are dark times for the Frontier. A series of violent thunderstorms have swept across the north eastern temperate reaches of the land, setting long acres of forests ablaze, turning the sky tar black and flooding others. In a time of desperation, a lone huntress, Miranda Delaclaire, must face an enemy, but after years of tracking him down, can she finally confront him alone? At this time, D was summoned to her side, rekindling the sordid curiosity that afflicted her so many years ago..._

_So D rode forth into the storm, toward the center of the whirlwind - to the eye, where an apparently peaceful Valley lay under the scorching heat of a red sun..._

* * *

_Since we're feeling so anesthetized  
In our comfort zone  
Reminds me of the second time  
That I followed you home_

_We're running out of alibis  
From the second of may  
Reminds me of the summer time  
On this winter's day_

Placebo - _Bitter End_

The hoof beats were swallowed in the deep-throated snarls of the storm that whipped back and forth. The figure on the hill descended quickly, to avoid an undesirable lightning bolt, for although the power that coiled deep in his veins, in his very marrow, was great, he was still vulnerable to the unchecked power of the weather controllers deep beneath the earth; they were spread all across the planet, simulating weather patterns that supposedly had existed before the planet-killing war that had driven mankind under the earth and unleashed the vampiric plague on the Frontier.

The young man riding so boldly and calmly through the storm hardly seemed disturbed by the thunder and lightning. He was not even fazed by the slightly nervous, nickering, pawing animal beneath him; the animal was somehow extremely skittish of the storm, as though the explosions of electricity were driving the circuits into disarray.

A lightning flash briefly captured an image of a fence ahead, a few dozen yards from the bottom of the hill. As horse and rider picked their way toward the fence, pale crystalline eyes discerned through the driving rain a farmhouse standing lonely and resolute there centralized in the waist high bushes and tangled plants that scraped nutrients up from the soil with their stubborn roots. The house looked as though long ago it accepted its own ruin, falling into disrepair and yet somehow, illumination stacked bars of golden light on the ground originating from the grimy windows - the old glass being washed circumstantially by the downpour - and the youthful, beautiful rider sensed no ill intent from the warm rooms inside.

The stranger was by no means about to disrupt what might have been an ordinary evening, for it would have been quite uncomfortable to spend the night among strangers just because of a little rain.

Just as the young man completed that decision, a crack of thunder snapped so close that his horse jumped and sprang forward without hesitation, charging boldly and a little blindly toward the fence.

In a handful of seconds, it would connect with the fence that it had not yet seen and suffer what might be its last, unfortunate shock. The hoof beats were a little louder; the rain had calmed, thick droplets falling to a lesser degree of intensity so that it sounded more like a purring feline all around rather than an angry werewolf. The _sploosh_ of hoofs made of solid steel, bearing the weight of a ton of cybernetic beast, crashed into the quieting air until the young man finally yanked so hard on the reinforced reins that the horse reared back, up and up with its eyes rolled back in sheer indignation before toppling like a statue made of steel.

With a heavy clank, the horse hit the wet earth, having overreached in its violent, frantic gyration. But it was just three feet shy of the fence, and untouched by the circuit-killing, flesh-frying heat that coursed through every inch of the corded metal. The young man, cloak snapping open like a pair of wings, leapt clear before the horse crushed him beneath its weight. He landed lightly in the mud, though no noise of distaste or despair left him. He rose, half of his long riding cloak now depressingly soaked from hem to knee with grime.

The youth's sharply pointed ears caught the steady hum of an underground generator, a hum that seemed also to generate from the electric fence, which was perhaps the only defense against monsters these people could afford.

The lights on the front porch of the farmhouse turned on. The inhabitants, maybe. Perhaps they were concerned about the racket. Maybe they would come out, full of concern or wonderment. Or territorial murder.

The quiet, undisturbed youth took the steed's reins after it had struggled back to its feet. From hoof to hock it was drenched in mud, and one whole side was also dripping. With a faintly distracted air, he stroked its flank and his hand came away with mud. Shaking it off, he turned his eyes, shaded by the large brim of his slightly sopping wet hat as the front door opened.

The broad, thick doors parted - double-doors, only the prettiest to be sure - revealing the diminutive form of a woman. Behind her was the taller body of a man. From here, he could smell the heat coming from the scatter pistol the woman held in her hands. Even from here, through the rain, the stranger could see that her hands were trembling and that the man behind her was steadying her shoulders by gripping with white-knuckled intensity.

"Who's out there?" the man called angrily, causing the woman in her pale blue sleeping gown to shiver even harder. Even their heavy-duty halogen lights, mounted like giant owl eyes all over the roof, did not quite reach far outside their sanctuary.

The youth slowly mounted his horse and turned away from the quiet, lonely and miserable farmhouse with its fence and lights. There was no sound from the couple as he began to guide his much-calmer steed toward a road he had spied back a few yards.

There was a commotion. Suddenly the screen door sprung open, thrown aside by the man as he sprung out down the steps. He was not entirely attractive in the least, but he had a strong gait, and long lean legs that carried him to the edge of the fence, darting lightly over unseen traps until he stopped near the border.

"Hena, get ready to shut off the fence!" he snarled brusquely over his shoulder. He started to address the retreating form. "Hey! Hey, you! Yeah, you, turn around! I thought you were some kind of spook of the night or somethin'! Come back here, lad. I knew that sword looked familiar."

The farmer took a step back as the horseman stopped, turning slowly. It was indeed a familiar face, although a face no words could easily describe, other than it carried the burdens of more than a hundred years in those unsettlingly deep, blue eyes like steel, and hair that was now the color stark blackness, shining wet in the farmer's flashlight. Strong, corded legs clad in dark, water-proofed leather hugged the girth of the horse with the well-worn saddle beneath him. His mouth was curved slightly, neither smiling nor frowning, but just there, full and white from the cold.

"Aren't you that special hunter them folk talk about in Westscher? If you are... there's a message for a guy called D. You him, right?"

At this, D dismounted and faced him. The man was slightly more unsettled, the rain slowly drenching the white, stained shirt which had seen better days, by the unearthly beauty exuded by this young wanderer. Instinctive fear gripped him and his hand shook a little before steadying the light on D's chest, rather than his face. It did not help much.

"Keep talking," was the soft, quiet voice that rang somehow clear above the rain.

Fear slowly became a slight distrust. "Well, we ain't gonna talk outside, are we? I dunno, but my balls are gonna fall off if I stay out here another second. I don't much care for strangers, but if you don't mind my wife... Hena, open the fence!"

"I thought you told me to shut it off!" she cried back through the rain, shrill as a crow despite her plain, homely unprettiness.

"Hena, I'm tellin' you--"

"Alright, alright!"

There was a loud snap as the fence unlocked, several reinforced feet of netted links growing silent as the fence shut off. D led his horse through the open gate, to a small outbuilding that served as barn since the real barn was a skeleton of a building sitting lonely in the dark beyond the protective wall of electricity.

The gate shut and the constant hum returned to the hunter's ears. Just as he began to ascend the steps, calmly and rationally reasoning that if these people had wanted to bring trouble, they would have been vampires. But seeing as they weren't, he accepted their offer and listened to their story.

The living room was much warmer than it was outside. It was so warm that, in fact, the cold that had been slowly eating away his strength and dropping his body temperature a whopping, unnatural four degrees, became an itching discomfort that was so tempting to scratch. He did not, however, move a muscle or change expression at all, but maintained just the serene quiet gaze and expression that made Hena vaguely irritated. His clothes stuck, clinging to him in such ways that could drive a man to cursing. He stood beside the front door, and the woman, well aware that he was tracking mud, commanded him to stop right where he was.

"Ugh. Well, I know I shoulda gotten used to livin' in a gods-be-damned bloody mud hole, but I just sweeped this here floor and I don't need no idiot trackin' more of the shit in."

Hena was a tough girl. Her marriage to her husband, Jon, had been arranged. Since both of them were of decent wealth and equal levels of attractiveness, neither of them complained - well, perhaps Hena more than Jon - so that, Hena acted tough to make up for all the qualities she lacked. It was plain, though, that these people survived and did it well enough to get along in a land that so far had seen nothing but storms all summer.

D noted that the scatter gun had disappeared somewhere inside the house. Jon was shifting uncomfortably, taking off his thick, rubbery boots and leaving them on a mat by the door. D hesitated. Jon waved dismissively. "Just keep yers on. Matter of fact, let me just bring you a chair and you can just sit by the door. I'm really sorry. I dunno if you got other business."

"It's fine. I'll stand. Tell me about the message."

Jon went around the side of a large couch - apparently an oft-repaired family heirloom for all the patches of fabric that covered the cushions - and pulled out a small piece of paper from inside a tube that had probably once been attached to something.

"Got this from a bird one day. Damn fuckin' thing - oh, pardon my language, Hunter - anyway, damn thing was makin' all the racket enough to wake the stars up, I'm tellin' ya. Flapping and crowing at my window like a thing possessed - which I kinda thought it was. But then I saw it had this attached to its leg. A few minutes later, a man came to my door and asked if I got his bird. I said, yes sir, I sure did. And I'd appreciate you kept your dumbass critters from wakin' up good honest people such as m'self."

Jon's voice had darkened considerably at the end, looking to D for a sympathetic nod of the head. But there was nothing. D simply stood quietly, his cloak dripping mud to the floor and bringing no end of silent grief to Hena, who was breaking out the mop and bucket from somewhere in the kitchen. When the tube was passed to him, the Hunter opened it and slipped the paper free.

"I didn't read it. Hena hear knows a few words, but she didn't try to. Said it was none of my nosy business. Anyway, the guy said to deliver to a hunter named D... he described you pretty good, although he was a bit sketchy about the clothes..."

As he spoke, D read the words on the paper. They were quite legible, written by a well-practiced hand. Most likely it was only a local service, one that the dhampir was not familiar with in his own travels. The stamp was not easily familiar to him, but it was quite clear: his services were requested, and the messenger was sorry he couldn't deliver it in person. The paper continued to describe the situation involving a monster apparently of a vengeful persuasion, and it wasn't alone.

Payment was negotiable somewhere in the area of tens of thousand, keeping in mind the money could be split between the other hunter already there and D himself at mission completion.

"...but I knew it was you, ya know, all that leather and the sword, mostly. Yep."

At this time, Hena walked toward D with mop and bucket full of steaming, chemical-heavy water. She cleared her throat noisily at D as though he were a common pest. And he lightly stepped aside, so she could sop up the mess he was making on her floor, unaware it seemed that he was only making another one by standing in a different location.

Without hesitation, he turned away, stopping only once to to ask in a toneless murmur, "Can I borrow a map? I'm not familiar with the road to this valley."

It was among the few times D had ever gone and outright asked for directions.

* * *

Ten or so minutes later, D had somehow procured a map that wouldn't wilt like a dying flower in the constantly pounding rain and wind from the couple living alone. A second more and he was out the door, after the map was marked on his location and the Coel Valley marked as well with a red wax pencil. The horse was more at ease now that the thunder had moved on to stomp about some other corner of the storm-ravaged countryside. 

Leaning forward, aerodynamic as he leaned into the wind, he sped across the rain-drenched land like a demon on horseback. Tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars was not necessarily lunch money. A few lucky breaks - ones with numbers in the twenty millions - had given him an advantage in paying his way across the Frontier and renewing old tools he had spent up, that he employed in more delicate work; detective stories were by far a common prerequisite to sometimes ridiculously easy battles.

All in all, it was not the work he disliked so much as the traveling. He had seen much; he wanted to see this valley, reputed for its bizarre 'eye' in the storm, as if a glass wall prevented any great disturbances from spilling over the rounded old granite peaks and into the serene farmland within. D wanted to understand, most of all, what exactly protected it in the first place. If it was the work of a vampire, or any machination therein, and everyone seemed normal, then he saw no harm in letting it stay that way after the business with the monster and his apparently supernatural friend was completed.

Therefore, at such a pace, he verily devoured the miles between him and the valley entrance. As he rode, a voice spoke gratingly from his left arm.

"Well, that was nice of 'em to loan that map. I don't suppose they weren't too smart since apparently it was their only one. Guess it does no good to hope no wrong comes to them. The question is, are you gonna return it?"

"I'll try." With that curt, clearly final response, D concentrated on the road ahead, watching as the storm seemed to lessen more and more in its beastly violence. When daybreak came, the sun stroked the belly of the thick, rain-choked clouds and they blushed as pink as a virgin's lips in summer.

The mountain range where the valley was nestled rose above him. He followed a dimly cut path through the stone river bed that had once slashed its own silvery path. Years ago, it had been dammed up to allow passage into the valley. The horses hoofs slipped and cracked on the stones until D left the river bed and trotted along the mossy lip of it. It was merely drizzling, which was a thankful relief. The cold had become a dragging weight to his consciousness. Often as he rode he almost fell asleep, his dhampir body crying out for sleep. When he could, he slept beneath a tree out of the rain, only to wake up soaking wet for his troubles.

He almost welcomed the warming heat of the sun, even as it was just as treacherous as water, which proved somewhat allergenic to vampires and their half-blooded offspring.

"In one more hour, we'll reach the entrance. From then on, it should be a pleasant ride through Coel Valley."

"I sure hope so. I think I'm chafing," growled a voice from his left hand.

"I'm sure you'll be fine." D closed his eyes, turned his head up to the sun. It was quiet, and there wasn't a sound save the soft trickle of water down a small brook in the riverbed and the birds serenading in the gnarled, storm-whipped trees.

At the valley entrance, there were two guard houses in the narrow entrance, not more than 20 feet across, the granite exploding upwards from the earth as if by forces far beyond nature, frozen in an expression of kinetic that magnetically drew the eyes up to see just how far up they ascended into the heavens. D lost track of the point somewhere up in the fog before he looked down again, noticing that the guard houses were flanked by ten or so men.

Among them was a woman, thirty or forty years old with a sword sheathed over her back. Another was a man built like a willow tree, clothes loose-fitting and comfortable with several splashes of wild color - vermillion, emerald, scarlet, buttercup yellow - darting throughout. His hair was long and lustrous, yellow as straw and combed back neatly. To complete this bizarre picture, he had a knife strapped to his belt, and scatter rifle across his shoulder, and a large, brown-spotted falcon on his gloved arm.

When they saw the dark youth emerge from the foggy drizzle like a horseman from the Stygian depths of hell, cloak snapping, torn at one edge, beautiful and unearthly beauty radiating from within and without, tension gripped them all by the spine and straightened them up like green flowers stretching for the sun, away from the oppressive, silk shadow that was the Vampire Hunter D.

"So." This was the woman, whose deep voice was unflatteringly deep and commanding.

The steed halted.

The woman in her dark cloak and the thick braided hair came forward, eyes narrowed and lips white. She still looked exceptionally young save for the slight wrinkles, crow's feet at the corner's of her eyes, that gave indication of her age.

"D. Vampire Hunter. This time, I hope, you won't have to save me... because I'd rather you didn't." The greeting was not what anyone hardly expected to hear from the huntress. She stared with such wide-eyed malice with her lips drawn in scowling intensity, as though she exercised every bit of restraint by just looking at him.

The men, all armed with a variety of offensive weaponry, futuristic and lamely outdated, shifted and averted their eyes.

The youth didn't move a muscle, merely watched, unsurprised.

Miranda gave a slight scoff. "Either you've got nothing to say for yourself, or maybe you just forgot how to speak. Well. I'll tell you what - twelve months shitting through a tube makes a lady remember a lot of things... and I haven't forgotten, you son of a bitch."

Still as death, the Hunter said, "Are you finished?"

Bristling, Miranda reached for her sword. But, before any tactical move could be made, one of the men reached for her - earning them a sharp glare. "Oh, fuck you! You worthl--!" And that was all. She was nowhere near being finished with her acidic words, but for now they apparently had no effect on the untroubled young man in the saddle.

With a click of her heel on the stone walk, she turned and walked away, flicking her hand at the sheriff of Coel Valley to discuss whatever needed to be discussed.

The sheriff, a middle-aged man, clean-shaven and modestly dressed save the pin on his chest, cleared his throat. "Given the nature of this situation, we're just glad you made it here so quickly. We weren't expecting word for another ten days, but somehow you managed the trip in three! So, you pretty much know about our monster problem. Far as we can tell, one man and now a woman's been chewed up. Apparently not out of hunger. This thing just looks like it loves to hurt things. I'd like you to take a look at the bodies, as soon as--"

D trotted up along past the sheriff, and the men all shuffled backwards hurriedly, as if the stranger exuded an aura to repel them. "I will. Please understand that if you expect me to work with someone who has a clear distaste for me, I won't accept merely ten thousand dollars."

"Well, sir, that's somethin' you'd better discuss with Mayor Venson."

D nodded. And then he rode forward slowly, parting the group of men like a knife through the waves, as though the stranger exuded an aura of repelling fear that made everyone's hair stand on end. The genetic instinct to fear vampires quivered through everyone, even though none had lived through an instance where vampires had ever been a problem in Coel.

Miranda Delaclaire. _I recognize her now_, D thought with a slight clenching of his gut. And suddenly the memory became clear - painfully, transparently clear - that he had to shut his eyes and simply breathe through it, painful though it was.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author...

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

_"By the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the deep and eternal grief I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the demon who caused this misery until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will preserve my life: to execute this dear revenge will I again behold the sun and tread the green herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my eyes for ever. And I call on you, spirits of the dead; and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed and hellish monster drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now torments me." _

- Victor, "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley

* * *

A gruff voice mumbled softly from somewhere around D's waist. "So now he remembers. You've got a lot of balls forgetting something like that."

D checked the other riders around him. They didn't seem to hear, so he kept his voice low as he replied darkly, "I haven't forgotten. It was..."

"Sixteen years ago. That's an eye-blink for you, buddy." The voice was full of scathing disapproval.

It _was_ an eye-blink. It had left quite a deep imprint upon his memory, so deep that he found it hard to see it at first, smothered underneath the dirt that time had left. The woman riding beside the sheriff, her legs somehow unnaturally slim and yet powerfully gripping the sides of the beast of burden she rode. Her back was straight, her left hand bare up to the elbow save for a fingerless glove. The other was swathed in the same thick, protective material that had probably cost her a pretty penny. Her hair was braided behind her head, shorter than he remembered it to be when she was a young, hopeful 20-something raising a child of her own. She had full, dark hair when she was younger, and eyes that could melt an ordinary man to devotion and sweetness.

But those eyes were not the eyes of the young hopeful woman any longer. They had been hard, black and distinctly unnatural, like the eyes of the fabled sand-shark from the hot desert reaches, where the granules reached as deep as a sea.

"Cybernetic enhancements," the left hand supplied. "Do you remember?"

With a soft exhale, he gave a slight bow of his head, hiding his eyes, drawing from the deep, stagnant pool of memory in his mind the image of the young girl...

It had been about a decade before. Another job, another paragraph on a page of his long, arduous history.

The first time he saw her was in a photograph, brand new, one corner already bent. It was a picture of her wedding day. She was standing beside her husband, gently grasping his arm and yet trying to stand apart, independently; dressed not in virgin white, but black - she hated conformity, and it brought no end of grief for all she touched. D remembered almost smiling when they told her, although he never usually cared too much about the various clientele who hired him, or their people to be saved.

The job was twenty-five million - a reasonably jaw-dropping amount, considering some of the harder jobs he's had. Had he known the trick was to get there in time to save her, he would not have allowed himself to be so surprised.

The next time he saw her, she was nothing like the cocky, self-assured teenager in the photograph. For one thing, she was at least five years older, emaciated, and thankfully still human. In that dark, foul place where her monster had taken her, he saw that she was still a struggling spirit, full of anger and rage at what had been done to her...

But then the memory would go no further. He opened his eyes, seeing the stolid young woman upon her horse again, and struggled to see that long-disappeared lady. He knew something horrible had happened to her. But now was not the time to think about it, because he seemed to have napped throughout a quarter of the trip, lulled by the gentle sway of the horse walking leisurely beneath him, the gentle grasses bending in the breeze.

"So you got one of my birds," said a voice beside him. He turned his head, looking off to the side at the brightly-dressed fellow whose own steed was actually one-hundred-percent flesh. The garb he wore was rather eye-catching and D had to wince slightly to look at him properly. The falcon on its shoulder shifted, blinking up at the sun.

"I did. How did you know?"

"She told me so."

D arched a brow at this. The bird told him? An interesting metaphor, but is it actually true? he thought. Otherwise he said nothing, waiting for an explanation.

The man flushed slightly, his clean-shaven face turned aside as he fed a bit of raw meat - the scent of which prickled D's senses like a friendly porcupine - to his falcon. "Yeah, I can speak to birds. I got a bit of dragon's blood on my tongue, and they say if you can survive the burns, you can live after and speak to them..."

"How did you get dragon's blood into your mouth?"

"Well," said the man, laughing nervously. D could see the pinkness of the other's tongue, and the raw signs of old scars within, and even fainter scars around his cheek and down his neck. "Long story short, I got picked to attend a dragon hunt one day, because I used to be a writer. I was going to record the adventure and sell books about it, because none of the other pinheads in the group could write worth their weight in dollars. In the end, nearly everyone died and a spray of blood got me in the mouth. But at least the dragon was down."

After he was finished, D asked quietly and kindly, "What is your name?"

"Hm!" the man said, and extended his hand, removing it from the reins so the falcon on his arms could remain undisturbed. "Well, they call me Mouka. It means raging fire! You'll see why if you stick around for the little get-together the town is having tonight."

"There's a monster, haplessly slaughtering, and this town is having an event?" D replied flatly, disbelieving, and additionally refusing the hand that was offered.

"Well... it's all we got, you know? We've gotta stick around and entertain ourselves, since nobody is damn foolish enough - er, excluding you, you were invited, Hunter - to make the trek through storm and starvation to our valley."

D did not hesitate with his next question. The warmth of the sun was welcome only in that it dried him off, but he could feel that noon was swift in coming and he hoped they could pick up the pace before its apex. "Why is it only this place is spared from the storm?"

"I don't know. People think maybe it's our weather controller underground, just not doin' anything. Others thing it's because of the forest."

"Forest?"

"Well, look over there and see."

D turned his head, and Mouka continued as he took marvel at the sight of huge, distant giants stretching upwards until they nearly obscured the mountain peaks beyond them. The tops of them seemed to shiver and glow with unearthly light; hundreds of thousands of birds took their homes there, protected and at peace, and what manner of beasts lived below, he could not begin to guess. Tall, immeasurably thick of trunk, who could say how old the trees were, or the forest itself?

"It's been around for ages. Nobody likes to go in, though, because around here we like to keep peace with the things we don't understand," the man said softly.

"I imagine that must be quite difficult. You've had no problems with monsters before?"

"Not as far as I know. Ask the older people, and they might tell you something. I've only lived here for four years."

D nodded, shifting only a fraction as he turned to look forward. What he sensed there in the forest did not unsettle him greatly, but it made him strangely curious to see what it was exactly. It was like smelling something like coffee and, rarer still, natural mint. He flicked his reins, heeling the horse forward.

"Seems like a nice place," came the hoarse, disembodied murmur. "But remember the last time we agreed on that... so you better keep your trousers up, 'cause close calls like that ain't my cup of tea."

"I'm curious to see what's in that forest," D said quietly. "But I suppose after this adventure, it can wait."

"'Course, you don't listen to me anyway. Just... don't get too comfortable. I'd sleep with your eyes open, as usual, around that lady, too, 'cause the way she looked at you, you'd think she'd give you a non-professional eye transplant."

D grit his teeth again. He knew why she was mad at him now. Suddenly recollection poured back as well, the dam of memories unblock and he closed his eyes, bending his head again as the nearly-noonday sun lashed at the earth with its heat.

_"Am I going to die?"_

_He had been concentrating so hard on just getting back that he hadn't realized her eyes were wide open; the sedative to keep her still had worn off. _

_Her voice, so impassioned by pain and discomfort and the sheer soul-gnawing need to know, grated heavily on his composure so hard that his words nearly stumbled. "Hold still. You'll be alright."_

_The horse's hoof beats were suddenly too loud. The pace was agonizing, for D as well as the woman whose only choice was to remain nestled against his thighs in front of him, trying to steady her with one arm as he held the reins with the other. He could feel her squirming regardless. Swaddled in blankets, she reached up and touched his face, two words alone on her lips as she realized she couldn't reach with the other arm because it wasn't there anymore._

_Her beautiful face relaxed into a look of quietude and defeat. "Kill me."_

He clenched his hand to keep the parasite residing in it from speaking, for he knew that the parasite had seen his memory - and he was not at all interested in whatever commentary that it had stored up to speak later.

Miranda Delaclaire turned her head slightly as they reached town, and when their eyes met, hers smoldered like coals against his of ice.

D, troubled by the malice he beheld, did his best to stare back; satisfied, she turned away again, dismounted, and marched with uncanny stiffness to the large stone building and vanished within.

* * *

Miranda stormed to her quarters. She had already seen the second body to be killed earlier, and the haunting look of the man's face, as though completely in argument with the fact that he had died missing the lower half of his body, had followed her all the way to her room and now hovered just out of her mind's eye, taunting her.

"This is what I have to face," she scoffed angrily. "And I have to face it with _him_. I'd rather just do it alone but I-- I can't."

Oh, it was true; she had summoned the help of the very man who had done her no wrong but somehow failed her in every sense of the word. He may not have been the one to tear off her limbs and devour her and ruin a life that she was content with, but he may as well have handed her over to the beast. She did not even remember how long she had stayed in that bed, fed through tubes, expelled waste through tubes, even cried her worthless angry tears through tubes until her disgruntled step-parents scrounged enough money for the cybernetic enhancements; they weren't the same ones she had now, because she had to work to get better ones.

She could have been considered lucky, and she knew she owed the dhampir her life. But what kind of life was that now that no man would want what she had become: a half-machine, a woman possessed by the demon of vengeance, a restless spirit inhabiting something that should have died ages ago?

_Now it's all gone. And I live every day in pain. I'm lucky I can do the things I do now, because they would have let me die if they didn't care enough for a fellow human being. Could be that I should have just let myself curl up and waste away, but I couldn't - not after I started getting pissed off._

No. Miranda did not lay down, did not let her sword drop from her fingers as she earned her dollars to keep up her dwindling health and yet still manage to stay on the track of her monster. And haunted, always, by the face of the stranger who had saved her.

_Why didn't he just let me die?_

Miranda stopped herself suddenly. She stopped for two reasons; she realized she had been pacing furiously for the last two minutes and her joints ached.

"I'm too old for this," she sighed, the gut-feeling that it was the cold truth settling like a hard meal in her belly. She walked slowly toward the CD player, a rare commodity that someone had brought to her rooms the other night. She thought it might have been the messenger, the one who commanded birds. He seemed unusually smitten with her, which was flattering, but humiliating all the same because she was just too married to her work to consider reciprocating his affection. Even if he did see her ruined body, her unattractive metal appendages and loved her... ah, who was she kidding?

The huntress quietly committed herself to just turning on the CD player and listening to the music. She had no idea how to work the thing other than turning it on. Soft, flowing tones rose from it, and even though it was loud (she didn't know how to fix the volume either, for all the buttons and their letters had been rubbed off), she thought it was still comforting as the piano rose and fell in the voice of a joyful sonata.

She was also very tired; however, sleep was out of the question. The unsettling beauty of the dhampir hunter gave her little comfort, and she wasn't the sort of tired that required sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands moving to her thighs, massaging the soreness out of them, right up into the connection where the metal limbs began and flesh and bone and sinew ended. She had purchased enough medicine until the end of the week, but she'd been doubling up in order to keep off infection since traveling through the storm so she would probably run out as soon as the day after next.

She kneaded her legs in silence, bearing the discomfort with a joyless grimace. After that, she took another another anti-biotic without water, and grimaced around the flavor of that as well.

"Just a quick nap then," she swore to herself, laying back against the pillows that were, to their credit, too damn soft to refuse sleep. Her onyx gaze quit the sight of the ceiling above her and the calming dark of sleep overtook her. Dreams, when they came, were feverish and troubled; the pale face and dark, lustrous hair of the dhampir hunter had brought her no end whatsoever of fear and anger. She knew in her heart that was not pity that saved her, but the necessity of money that drove the Hunter to stay his hand in doing away with her. Mercy was not common among Hunters.

And despite the need for care, he had taken their money - half of the original price, anyway, though it made no difference - and left the hospital where she stayed without once looking back.

That was how the story was told, and that was what she remembered.

With a jar, she woke up, and the music from the player was still gently teasing the air with its soft, mournful notes.

Miranda knew without even looking that she was not alone. Instinct drove her into a pin-point focus of survival as she rolled from the bed, landed on all fours and drew her sword with a high-pitched ring of metal.

The figure in her room was not the cool countenance of D. It was not familiar to her at all, in fact, and though she often looked even with her enhanced eyesight, she could no more penetrate the shadows of the hooded figure's cloak than swallow a dagger.

"I'm impressed," the figure said in a surprisingly gentle tenor voice that seemed almost tangible enough to touch. "Not many use swords in this day and age."

"I've got no battle with you," Miranda replied. "So get the hell out, please."

The figure shifted. With one hand, it procured a small object and tossed it onto her bed just a few inches in front of her nose. "Things are rarely so easy. Your tenacity is admirable, however. I can't believe you followed that beast for so long."

"I'll burn in Hell before letting that son of a bitch get away with what he did to me! And I'll kill anyone who gets in my way!" Miranda snarled. She tore her eyes away for a second to glance at the object on the bed - before she looked up again, and saw there were now two figures in the room, and the door had opened.

The Vampire Hunter said nothing at all. The sound of metal on sheath razed the air, cutting a block of silence through the music as his sword was drawn. And then the Hunter himself disappeared, and so did the other figure. The sound of glass smashed throughout the room, and the window had exploded outward.

Quick on their heels, Miranda followed. Adrenaline glands in her body, placed strategically in conjunction with her metallic limbs, worked in tandem to increase agility, stamina, and strength - so that, by the time she had touched the ground outside in the street, in front of the mayor's mansion, she was almost equal to the strength of a dhampir. She lunged forward, and the dark figure the Hunters were battling darted back and forth likening to dancing; graceful, unhindered, it made the trio look as though they were putting on a show to the music of clashing metal and boots on stone.

Only thirty seconds elapsed before Miranda saw a blinking flash of ruby, a tearing of cloth, and the figure lurched backwards, minus a hood, revealing a head of hair the color of the starless sky. His eyes raised, and at the sight of his face Miranda missed a step and staggered to a halt.

The smile the young man gave her was indiscriminately sad.. He straightened slowly, lowering his arm which had been armed with a gauntlet-like piece, with the guise of a monstrous claw made of impenetrable metal. Just as she was watching, it flickered into a human hand before reverting back again, transforming as though made of smoke.

A flash of white heat, Miranda's sword flew, and the stranger deflected it again, although the final blow had belonged to Miranda; the cloaked dhampir seemed to advance as though never touching the ground to deliver the next one

And then the man or creature seemed to disappear on the spot. The fight had attracted the attention of a few townspeople; it was not long until the street was slightly crowded, children hurrying to see the bits of broken glass and even something as insignificant as the boots marks in the earth.

Swords sheathed, the Hunters stared at the last place they had seen the man run until Miranda spoke. "He put something on the bed. I didn't get a good look at it."

The fact that the perpetrator escaped did not give Miranda cause to despair. Often, she did battle with an enemy multiple times before it grew tired and fell to her blade.

D seemed unperturbed, except for one thing. "Show me what he gave you."

Upstairs once again, Miranda regarded the object on the bed without touching it. Her hand shivered when she reached, but she declined at last from lifting it from the sheet. "It's a dodie."

"What?" Uncomprehending, he looked at the object as well. "You mean a pacifier? He gave you a pacifier?"

"I don't understand." Her voice wavered slightly. "What does he mean by giving me this? And where did he get it, anyway?"

She picked it up at least, quickly, and a whole door of memory opened for her. In silence, she turned it over in her leather-clad fingers. A few seconds later, the sheriff quietly entered the room, staring at the two Hunters as they stood beside the bed. He cleared his throat.

"There's been another death... and that figure you fought hasn't been spotted yet either. I thought we'd have this business finished before dinner!"

"Sorry to disappoint." D turned away, and the sheriff left to speak with his deputies while D surveyed the damage to the window. "...Strange."

Miranda schooled herself quickly before responding, but her voice was still coarse with mild disdain, like the snarl of a cat. "What is?"

"This could be more difficult than I imagined," the Hunter continued quietly, picking up a piece of glass lightly in his fingers without so much as a scratch, before tossing it aside. "That claw technique was exclusively a vampire trait."

"In the _day_?" Miranda remembered the look of that vicious claw, and never remembered encountering it before; an uncomfortable fear of the unknown and vampires in general coiled around her throat, choking her words. "That's impossible. Are you sure?"

D turned his baleful eyes toward her. His voice remained stoic, but she could tell almost in her bones that she had made a fool of herself. "I hunt vampires for a living. The fact that it was broad daylight, coupled with that technique, greatly worries me. That is what is so strange."

No matter how long the vampires had lived, none of them had achieved through science the ability to survive in the bone-bleaching heat of the sun. He had seen the evidence of their attempts, and left the wreckage of that heartbreak behind him.

"Then you've got yourself a mystery. Vampires aren't my bag, Hunter." Miranda leaned against the wall and snorted softly, looking away. _Great. Just like I don't got enough on my plate._

The sheriff returned, beaming, when D turned toward him. The sheriff bubbled, "Good news, Hunters. We found some tracks for you to follow."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author...

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

The beautiful youth walked into the grassy landscape leading his impressive machine stallion by the reins. The thick, black soil of the farmland stretched out and on in every direction toward the mountains on one side, acres of protein growing in fields. The farmlands curved across the hazy hills back to town on the other like the curving back of a lounging feline. The maize grew tall in the distance, leaving a green after-image behind his eyes when he blinked.

The dhampir was not alone. Miranda, hooded and cloaked, walked alongside him. They followed footprints, ordering the deputies and the sheriff to remain behind with their guns. Miranda had firmly articulated her orders to start setting up a more stringent guard. People must not sleep alone, and those who lived to guard their farms need only post look-outs to ensure that no one was caught off guard. Whether or not the people took her warnings for granted was none of her business - she didn't really care about them, and if she were to be honest, it was because of what had happened to her. In her mind, everything that touched and effected her deserved every ounce of her indifference.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked suddenly, blinking away the dampness the sunlight was making in her eyes. Her nose was burning now, and she'd been sniffling lightly for the past several hours. She spoke gently but not too kindly.

"Many, many years," was his answer. "Countless years. I don't even remember, really. If I thought about it, maybe I could try to recall." He didn't seem at all bothered by her tone of voice. But then, he continued in a lighter tone, "And you?"

Miranda was even more surprised when she answered him. "Couldn't really start hunting till I got good enough to step outside of town. I paid a man to train me how to fight. I spent a year or two alone on the Frontier... and I learned things most women couldn't learn in a lifetime by staying home, waving sticks at shadows like the rest of those fools. In a way, it was like a dream come true."

D thought about the picture of her, so many years ago, wearing black rather than the virgin white of most pretty, picture-perfect Frontier women. She had a spirit in her that seemed none too bothered by his presence.

She continued in a darker voice. "So I'd say, I've been hunting long enough. I've killed werewolves, pixies, serpent women, Lesser Dragons, and a few bigger ones. See, I had to do all that before going after my true prize, dhampir, because of my legs and my arm."

"I see."

"Is that all you can say?" she snapped angrily, casting him a dark look. "And on top of all that, I've got to keep hunting other things to stay rich enough to buy my medication. As long as I'm still alive, my destiny is to kill that fucker that took my life away!"

The woman looked straight ahead again, her hands tightening slowly into fists. Even the custom, silent semi-hydraulic workings of her cybernetic arm squealed slightly in response to the pressure she was applying. Other than that, her eyes were clear, large, dark circles of hatred and determination that few Hunters could boast about themselves. Her obsidian tresses drifted back from her pale face, and for a moment D saw the dark, tired circles under her eyes and the weariness deep down in the firm set of her mouth.

The young gentleman said nothing. His eyes were full of something that would surprise even Miranda, something called sorrow. It warmed her somehow in a way she just didn't understand. His long strides, graceful as a dancer, stopped slowly; the wind picked up gently, pulling his cloak to the left, tickling the belly of his horse. Then D mounted the horse gracefully, sliding one leg neatly across the saddle and then settling down as if he were born in the saddle of a horse.

Miranda glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening. "What are--"

"We'll never catch him walking. I lost his scent just a moment ago."

"Do you know what it is?"

His mouth tightened slightly. "No." He offered his hand in silent entreaty.

She refused it, of course.

"You should have waited until my horse was repaired, then, but by this time it wouldn't have mattered. So how do you know my monster is with your monster?" And slowly, with tangible reluctance, she slid her foot into the stirrup, hands gripping the saddle horn and butt sliding into place, strangely nervous when the unearthly youth slid back to make room.

"You told me that you saw them both, while one was attacking the child. If they are together, it would make sense - if that man was a true Noble."

They were in motion, but the euphoria didn't stop. They were going as fast as D dared to, even though the horse could have borne five people if it had the room. To D, it just seemed more polite to keep a slower speed.

"Is this as fast as this thing can go? No wonder I was doomed," Miranda snipped, sneering.

Much to her chagrin, D wordlessly kicked the horse into a sudden burst of speed that sent her pressing against his chest in an embarrassing second of surprise. Before she could tell him just how much of an asshole he was, she caught sight of something black among the green of the trees and farmland.

D spied it too, and without adieu Miranda leaned forward, her hands clinging at the cold mane in front of her. She pressed her body as tight as she could without allowing the saddle horn to jam her in the stomach. Her heart raced as they drew near, and slowly she sensed movement in the saddle behind her. One lean, muscular leg slowly drew itself up, boot on the saddle, and then D was gone, as if he just disappeared into nothing.

Just then, he reappeared. The shadow-cloaked monstrosity gave a howl of challenge as D reappeared in mid-air, cloak open like wings, and the sword seemed to become a thing of light as his strength powered the sword to fulfill its destruction.

"Leave him, he's mine!" she shouted as D reappeared, and three strikes later, the black demon appeared to miraculously avoided each and every one, writhing in mid-leap and landing in a roll, shadowy limbs reaching for the tall stalks of corn as if to embrace them. Regardless, she leapt from the now furiously bucking stallion, crying, "He's mine, dammit!"

D turned half-way to acknowledge her. She charged into the green blindly, which was, admittedly, a foolish thing to do. But the monster was justly terrified of the both of them, and the advantage was hers.

It darted like a cat out of her grasp, and she could have sworn to hear it laughing, could swear the smell of its rank breath was breathed right in her direction for its own sadistic enjoyment. She tried so hard not to imagine how the parts of that girl looked inside of its belly, the stomach which was sheathed in a coarse layer of armor-like muscle. As she straightened into fighting stance, she saw it for the first time in the full light of day. It was taller than she was, and its eyes were completely unaccounted for, and it was featureless save for the large mouth with rows of dark, blood-stained teeth like those of a shark's extended into a demonic clown-like grin.

And then, surprisingly, it spoke. "My Master said you would come. And now you've fallen right where he wants you."

"What?" Miranda's eyes widened, and for a moment she couldn't feel the ground beneath her until she started to fall - directly into a large hole that had _appeared_ in the soil under her boots. Before she could register much else, she was horrified as the name that fell from her lips was none other than D's. Before she fell, she barely had time to reach out, snatching fistful of corn leaves and disappearing into the darkness below.

Her cry brought him running. An entire section of maize fell to his sword to clear the path, and he lunged toward the black demon to take its heart out with one, swift stroke before it too plunged into the newly formed, perfectly circular hole in the earth.

"That's interesting," he murmured.

"You wanna go down the spooky dark hole?" said a voice coming from the vicinity of his left hand. "Go after the cranky old broad?"

D didn't believe that was particularly funny. "It's quite a hiding place, out in the middle of a corn field."

With that, after hitching his horse somewhere nearby to an apple tree, he stepped quietly and fell into the hole.

* * *

Forever, darkness. Forever, silence, except her own cloak fluttering in the blackness. She stuffed the leaves into her belt, and suddenly, due to her own inertia changing, she realized she was slowing down. Somehow she wasn't afraid she was going to die, because if the "Master" wanted her, it had better be alive because the Nobility was like that.

And yet, even as she slowed down to a snail's pace and turned herself to stand on solid ground, she felt a fear more potent than anything she'd felt before. In her travels, she had taken great pains to avoid the Nobility whenever she could. As the huntress told the dhampir, they were not her realm of expertise. The fear tugged away a layer of her courage, but she steeled herself and opened her eyes to the light that was slowly filling this deep chamber.

She didn't know how deep she was, but on looking up, she could see that the hole above had vanished. So, she continued forward, because that was the only way she could go.

Her sword never left her hand. She walked in the dim light, and the cavern seemed about nine feet high and ten feet wide. It was full of foul-smelling moisture, and there was a breeze caressing her face that seemed to take the edge off the foulness.

The corridor opened and sloped upward. Coughing softly, she emerged into a large, brightly lit chamber full of candles and torches and devices, she surmised, primarily for music; instruments laying open in their cases on chairs, music sheets piled on a table against the wall, and a few ornaments and brass covered in layers of grime and dust; abandoned, like metal soldiers strewn across war-torn battlefields, bodies wrecked in a tragic sacrifice no scribe had recorded. Ordinarily this sort of place would have been a wonderland for her musician's spirit, but that part of her had been buried beneath the coarse stone of a hunter. She merely sneered at the set-up and turned to face the wall with a painting on it.

It was a young man with beautiful, waxen-blonde hair that seemed spun from gold. He was dressed in a Noble's finery, but he looked mostly unhappy judging from the firm set of his jaw and his slightly rouged lips set in a coarse line. His eyes were a brilliant violet, as if blue was too good for him.

When Miranda turned again, she was somehow unsurprised to see a figure standing in another doorway she hadn't noticed yet. The aura of the Nobility hung around him thickly, and it made her skin crawl.

The man with black hair said, "So I see Argent has brought you." He motioned vaguely to the repulsive demon beside him.

Miranda's head began to ache as she laid eyes on the pair that stood before her. Her throat burned, feeling as though someone had lodged a thorn in it. Panting softly, she raised her sword at eye level and said, "I got no quarrel with you, Nobility scum. I just want that little cockbite - you understand the concept of vengeance, don't you?"

"Vengeance is not a creed to live by, certainly not for a woman such as yourself." The dark-haired man smiled sorrowfully. Then his mouth turned cruel, his prominent fangs as sharp as daggers. "Did you enjoy my gift...?"

Miranda's free hand went to her belt. The pacifier, that weird, extremely odd gift, was still there, and even though she didn't take it out she could see it in her mind... and suddenly she was holding it in her human hands, both human hands, in the dimly lit nursery of her husband's home. Her cheek tingled with the alien memory of soft baby skin against hers and the soft noise of a baby talking to himself.

"What?" Her eyes flickered back and forth between the monster, the vampire, the ceiling and then to her black leather-clad, cybernetic fingers, staring at the pacifier in it. The familiarity horrified her. "What did you do..." Lips barely formed the words. "...with my _son_?"

The vampire's lips maintained that infuriating cruelness that filled Miranda with her own bloodlust - to see his head roll on the floor, to see the blood of the damned paint the walls a pristine red. He said nothing else, his face suddenly contorting with pain before backing away, holding a hand up to his throat toward a collar wound around his neck.

Miranda didn't notice this. She merely snarled, pupils enlarging and turning a faint red - evidence that her eyes, too, had received the same sort of enhancement treatment as the rest of her body. "You... you _bastard_, what did you do with Chase?"

She lunged forward, faster than an a lightning strike, but not even half as fast as the speed of a Noble. She was faster than an average human for sure, but most monsters made by Noble hands were capable of speeds unheard of to those unfamiliar with them.

However, it was not the metal claw of the vampire that met the steel of her sword. The black demon that the Noble had called Argent intercepted her half-way, and with ungodly strength, cast her aside into a stand of stacked chairs, knocking them and whatever else nearby into a chaotic pile of bent plastic and metal.

"You'll have to excuse me. I am afraid I must leave you with Argent, who I am sure will show you a good time. He missed you so much, he said he couldn't stand another moment without you," the voice floated from nearby, growing fainter. "One thing you never knew about Argent - he is one of the rare True Demons of this world... a challenge even for your dhampir friend."

Pain burrowed into her nerves, but it was a very distant thing like the voice of the strange Noble who was fleeing from her. She rose to her feet, leaving only a split-second before a blazing white line flashed between herself and Argent, the fiery object burying itself in the demon's forehead.

"What?" the demon murmured, and something like blood but not quite dripped from the wound. "Interesting technique. Using simple plants as weapons..."

The dagger made of now wood slid from the wound, falling to the floor as a blood-stained leaf. Miranda clenched her teeth. She hadn't expected the move to work to begin with, but it was still a scathing disappointment. But the skill had been a good one for those rare, terrible occasions when she had lost all of her weapons. But such a tactic would do no good underground if she used all the corn leaves in one battle.

"You little shit," she hissed, coughing again so suddenly that she bent double.

This was when the demon lunged for her again, laughing and apparently heedless of her plight. Miranda's vision blurred as she tasted something like bile and blood just before she straightened in time; a black mass collided with her head on, knocking her through a pair of doors into another room. They tumbled, grappling with each other, until the thing captured her arm between its teeth. She closed her fist around another leaf, eyes widening as the teeth scraped away leather, fake skin, revealing the hard, impenetrable alloy that made up her cybernetic exterior. That, too, had cost a few hundred thousand dollars. She fought against the creature's weight, feeling its hot breath panting through those teeth as it struggled to swallow her entire arm up to the elbow. Miranda, snarling and screaming angrily with every curse word she knew, finally kicked it away - and a horrible tearing sound filled this empty room, echoing into the next few seconds.

Bleeding blood and who-knew-what-else, she rose. She looked strangely unappealing with her arm expelling an ungodly gush of fluids that once pumped through her system unhindered. But Miranda merely smiled. Sheathing her sword as if nothing in the world could bother her. With her remaining, right hand, she pulled something else from her belt - a small, cylindrical object.

She pressed its button, backing away through the door before turning away. Argent the Demon screamed once before an earsplitting explosion swallowed the rest; meaty wet splats punctuated as the rumbling drifted off into silence again.

"I put a tiny, effective bomb in case that sort of thing happened," she said to the demon whose ears were scattered now across the room through the wall behind her back. "And unfortunately for you, it detonated."

She slowly sat down on the dusty floor, clutching at her bleeding arm. The huntress laughed softly, wheezing somewhere inside of her chest. Full, dark lips curled upwards, and for the first time in awhile she truly smiled. "I win."

* * *

"I think we're too late," said D's left hand. "This doesn't look healthy."

The music room had been smashed to pieces on one side. Some of the instruments had taken damage, and the scent of blood, thick and hot, burned its way into his senses, driving his eyes into a faint red frenzy.

Miranda was sitting on the floor beside a doorway, beyond which the remains of an exploded demon were scattered wall to wall. Somewhere in the mess, he saw the glint of metal... and he walked past her in silence, bending to scoop up the object. Her arm - which was in pretty good shape, considering it had a bomb attached and it had detonated - hung limply from the hunter's fingers.

Then he turned and walked back out into the darkened music room, kneeling in front of Miranda and taking her into his arms. She seemed weightless to him, as if she were a pillow rather than a human partially made of metal. D could not sense the Noble; additionally, for some reason, it had taken him twice as long to get down through that corn-field hole.

He walked on in silence. Somewhere along the way, something stopped the blood flow from her arm as though shutting off a valve. Miranda was still breathing, but the most unsettling fact was the wheezing she emitted with every breath.

"There's a way out just across the way here, D," said a voice, slightly muffled. "I don't know how you're going to attach her arm back to the rest of her, but hey, whatever floats your boat."

After climbing a large stairway, passing through several doors, the hunter finally stopped as he came to a series of bedrooms in a corridor. They had reached ground level once again, and the windows showed that it was well into the night. He selected the best, most defensible room with one window and a sturdy door that could keep out a werewolf.

In the darkness, he sat her down on a chair, brought a table to her left side, and measured his options... and hers, as well. "This could take some real work," he mumbled, pressing his left hand against her chest.

"She's got some kind of respiratory infection, too," the parasite replied. "I wouldn't dally if I were you."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author...

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

_There's a place within her mind  
With rains already falling  
She's insane, this friend of mine  
And she's always bawling  
Hear her calling  
Hear her calling you  
Hear her calling  
Hear her calling you_

Placebo - Black Market Blood

* * *

Miranda was indeed a strong woman. Checking her temperature with a thermometer from his First Aid pack, he discovered she maintained a temperature of one-hundred-and-two degrees. He understood perfectly well that she should have died sixteen years ago. Her injuries warranted a merciful death, certainly; every instinct in his body that long ride home had screamed at him to stop and put her life at its final end. There was no easy way to ignore that biting part of his psyche that wished to bring her peace, to answer her struggling pleas to put her to death. The brush of her fingertips on his face when she awoke during that long ride had long since haunted him, even the way her eyes, full of stubborn fire, flared when he calmly denied her that right. 

Seated at her side, he produced from his utility belt an assortment of tools he always carried with him but had never had the opportunity to use. As he worked to reattach her arm, using a truly impressive elixir that sped up healing, the dhampir thought about the long ride to her step-parents' town where all things would make more sense, and he wouldn't have to look into her wounded, soul-devouring eyes anymore.

_He had ridden long throughout the night. The scent of her blood possessed him so powerfully of bloodlust that he was tempted to inject another application of anticoagulant into her system; but, like always, he knew it would be no good and he would fight it, as he fought it every second that she clung to him, panting through her pain. And the hunter had stopped only once for rest, because she had cried out in anger to stop. Delirious with her own agony, she clawed at his face and threatened to tear out his eyes herself if he didn't._

_So he did. He built up the fire and swaddled her in blankets, pressing his hand against her forehead. She was better now, her words falling lightly from her lips. She whispered breathlessly, "What's your name?"_

_"D. You shouldn't speak, Miss Delaclaire." _

_She gasped softly, wincing. Their eyes met; her lips pursed, and then she said, "You didn't... you can't-- you can't do this. You can't keep me alive like this. It takes at least three days to get back with me. I'll die before you get there."_

_"I ride fast," he assured her. "I need to keep you safe."_

_"You need to...?" Her eyes glistened. "For the money... is that it?"_

_This time, he said nothing. But there was something a bit like shame in his eyes before it fled before the daggers of determination._

_"I understand." She paused for breath, reaching her right hand out from the blankets, grasping his left one. "I know... I know how hard it must be. If you return for the money and I'm not with you... they'll just--"_

_"I don't want you to die," he interrupted suddenly. "And it is not for money that I do this. That is the truth."_

_Miranda's searching gaze caressed every nuance of his face. His fingers had twitched under her grasp, and then he turned his palm upward slowly, sliding his long, painter's fingers along with hers. In the firelight, he looked as distant as a star and as cold; he was an entire world away from her, considering the dark heritage in his veins. And yet she felt stiflingly close. Her heart pounded against her ribcage from his words, his actions... and she was no fool. She understand they were all rare, very rare. They were gifts. Her eyes softened..._

D watched over Miranda as she fought fever and sickness laying in the dusty bed that occupied one corner of the room. He removed most of her unnecessary gear to keep her comfortable. While unbuckling her utility belt, a small orange prescription bottle tumbled free and rolled across the floor against his boot.

He bent to pick it up, and turned it to read its label. It was a high-level antibiotic that he was familiar with only by its extreme rarity and, therefore, the price that came with it.

"Sorry to tell you this, D," his left hand murmured suddenly, "but that isn't antibiotic. It's poison. Someone's gone out of their comfort zone to put Miranda in a bad way."

"Then the only thing to do is find the real antibiotic," D replied, his hand clenching around the bottle. All this trouble... only so someone could poison her from within. Who could it have been?

The drugstore. His eyes narrowed, flickering toward Miranda as she clenched her newly reattached cybernetic hand against the sheets. Her voice was frail but desperate, her brow furrowing and beading with sweat. "Chase... what have you done with..."

D slipped the bottle into his belt, stepping to the bedside quietly. "What to do..." he whispered, although it wasn't idly he spoke these words. For if he left her here, the uncanny day-walking Noble might discover her, or something worse... but if he took her with him, it would endanger her health even more. It was getting colder in the valley, darker, as if the mountains that had kept this place safe were slowly crumbling; the tall, Stygian monoliths made of cloud flashed with lightning in the distance.

It would rain soon. It would storm like the gods wanted to dance with lightning, like a psychotic madman was raising a monster from deep beneath the earth. His eyes narrowed into blue, angry slits, considering his options and forcing his heart to be cold. Because worrying this much about a woman frightened him to his marrow.

He pressed his left hand against her forehead. "Miranda," he said.

Deep, cinnamon-brown eyes opened, focused on the unsettling beauty of the face above her own. "D, you... what are you still doing here?"

"You can't stay here. You're very sick. Someone has poisoned you, and we need to move quickly. Do you understand?"

Her head nodded slowly, her face assuming an attentive glaze.

The hunter began to fix her gear back onto her again. "I need you to be stronger than ever. Can you do it?"

Her lips quirked. Annoyance, "Who do you think I am?" spilled from her lips in a heartless whisper. She tensed as he lifted her. She glanced at her arm, and recognition registered briefly. "You did this?"

D did not answer. He carried her outside through the corridor and into the fading sunlight. A full day had gone by without any improvement, and he could not afford to hesitate a second longer. He had gone out once, only to retrieve his mode of transportation from the corn fields. It was now standing patiently under the shade of a tree, chewing peacefully on the rich grass.

"Why?" Miranda's hands clenched on the saddle horn as he placed her in front. He climbed up behind her, steadying her with his long, muscular arm. "Why are you still saving me?"

Her voice had grown a bit stronger, and by the end she was demanding, authoritarian, and ultimately severe.

The horse glided forward smoothly as it began to walk, and then trot, and then outright sprint across the grassy hill upon which a dilapidated castle had stood, whose basement D and Miranda had been trapped in before their escape.

D did not answer her. Instead, he said with almost equal severity, "I thought I told you to be strong."

"To hell with what you say. Nobody listens to you because your a goddamn dhampir; nobody listens to me because I'm a woman, a monster... and everything they say has got to be right because they're the ones holding the rifles, even though they need people like us. So I need you to answer my question, and I don't want to hear any more of your shit--" She winced, looking away as he looked down at her once. And once was enough.

"Just tell me why my life is so important to you," she said softly.

"Because I'm not giving up on you. You should never have become a hunter, Miranda."

She stiffened in his arms abruptly, eyes wide, furious. "And why not!"

"Because I saw the look in your eyes when you defeated that monster. For living so long with revenge and hate under your tongue, you're going to stop now that you've completed your so-called destiny? What is there to live for other than revenge? Or have you forgotten to be human already?"

Miranda gasped. Her pride had been stabbed at too many times by this man, but his words had gone too far now. _Of course I'm still human_, she insisted silently. _Can't he see I don't care anymore? He's a fool, just as he was a fool then!_

"Bastard!" she snarled, squirming even harder. "How dare you say that to me! You're not even human yourself, you--"

But weakness gripped her at once. She trembled, turning her face into his chest to start coughing. Her hand had knitted itself into his onyx sleeve, holding for precious life. D subconsciously tightened his hold on her, choking off his panic with reason.

"Stop fighting," he murmured against her ear, like the whisper of autumn on a late summer wind. There were tears standing in her eyes now, and he hated himself for being their cause. "If you need me to listen... I promise you, I will. All I can say to you is a true Hunter never gives up; it is an unforgivable sin of cowardice."

"So what should I do about it?" Her reply was muffled, but he heard her perfectly clear.

"Just live. Have a little patience."

"Patience..." She closed her eyes tightly, whispering, "Am I dying?"

"It's possible."

"Is that it? 'It's possible'?" She no longer sounded sad or even angry. Merely resigned. She leaned her head back to look up into his tormented eyes, but they were focused on the road ahead. "If you don't want me to die alone... then you'd better stick next to me, Vampire Hunter."

A miracle happened then. The hunter smiled with uncharacteristic gentle warmth, the sort of smile that made women melt in clothes; for Miranda, it made her feel a rarely experienced warmth rise in her cheeks, and for once she thought him truly beautiful.

_D remembered the unloving way in which her husband had spoken of her, the hunter himself having arrived that morning in the richly populated town; it was full of wealthy, pompous human nobles who flaunted their money and their protection from vampires by looking down their noses at more common people. _

_He remembered the picture he had been shown, and the abrasive words used to describe her refusal to submit to 'proper' ways. He recalled how, in short, swift order, he had fallen for her story. How much he had suddenly hated her family for who they were, how they treated her. He did not see it for himself, but the truth was there in the lack of affection most of her family imbued whenever in reference to their beloved Miranda. It was so easy to understand why._

_For all his wandering, his coldness, D was inexplicably in love with her, and it twisted his soul into two._

* * *

Unfettered darkness hid the cowering body of a young man, whose whimpers echoed and taunted him from the walls where unseen eyes watched, laughing. Madness clawed at his mind, while his pale, numb fingers fumbled at his throat for the torque that had, over time, almost grown into his skin. 

"No--no..."

Suddenly, he swung to his feet, reeling. His fingers fell from his throat. When he came into the sunlight, the torque, with a ruby at its center, flashed softly. "Go. He's moving. Quickly!" The voice from his throat was caustic with anger and impatience, the words echoing back in a demonic mockery of his sensual voice of velvet.

His staggering walk slowly lengthened, smoothed out, and from the young man's throat erupted a soft laughter. He disappeared, moving fast to the town of the valley of Coel.

* * *

Leaning heavily against his side, Miranda surveyed with chilling calm the chaos that had become the pharmacist's office. They had ridden straight into town and directly to the pharmacist's house, which was just on the edge of the street. People gave them queer looks, seeing the young woman looking nearly emaciated. 

The pharmacist's office was a ruin of bottles, cases of syringes, and various white pills scattered across the floor, resembling a child's nightmare winter scene. Her heart thudded in response to the sudden surge of anger and revulsion for the culprit. But D seemed perfectly calm, leading her quietly to a chair that was still turned upright, harboring her from the chill of the room by sheltering her in his cloak.

She was warm enough to heat up two of them, though, for her fever had recovered itself as soon as they had stopped. Her skin had taken on a waxen appearance, dark circles under her bloodshot, narrowed eyes.

"Wait here," he said. "I won't take long."

"What--"

He was gone, cloak fluttering wide as he turned, carefully stepping around piles of pills. He said something so softly to himself, she wasn't sure if she heard right or if it was her fevered imagination, but it sounded like, "Now what, smarty-pants?"

He came to rest in the back room where most of the damage had been spared. Whoever had done all this damage had been empty-headed enough to forget that every good pharmacist on the Frontier had a safe full of the most important vaccines and medicines that cured a range of deadly illnesses that could strike a town at any time.

D's rationalization was correct. In the back room, next to the blood-stained corpse of the pharmacist, the safe was up-ended on the floor, knocked about, but it was otherwise unharmed. He turned it upright, placing it on a wooden counter and checking the locking system. It had a combination lock and little else that couldn't be manipulated by otherwise unnatural means. Tuning his ears to the mechanism inside, he carefully turned the dial. 13, 34, 20.

He pulled it loose, and put it aside. "Now," he said quietly, "tell me which one."

The orange bottle fell into his hand from a pouch on his belt. He turned it back up, read its label again, and then set it aside. With his left hand, he arranged the jars of pills on the counter, and extended his left hand along the top of each.

"Just in case," D murmured, "that he got in, switched the medication, and shut it again before he left, I need you to tell me which ones... are one of these."

"So why are you going through all this trouble anyway?" said his left hand, as slowly a face, complete with eyes and nose and mouth, formed inside his palm. "Ah... I shouldn't have asked."

"Just do it."

After a moment, D hung his left hand back at his side, when the parasite said, "That's the one. Right on the end. You could have saved yourself the trouble, these weren't tampered with at all. Take a whole bunch - I have a feeling we'll be needing it."

D packed the orange bottle to the brim, capped it, and added at least a handful more to his own bottle. He poured a glass of water from the tap and quickly walked back out into the main room.

"You were being poisoned," D explained after she'd taken two of the miraculous pills.

"So where's the pharmacist?"

"Dead."

"Someone made him do it, then?" Her eyes filled with a predatory anger, though whether because it was the man had been killed or because he'd given her poison pills was unclear.

"Apparently, whoever your stalker is didn't want me to interrogate the pharmacist." Seriousness drained away, leaving room for open, honest concern as his voice drifted meaningfully to her ears. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better." She stood up slowly, leaning on the back of the chair. Dark, spidery strands fell across her eyes. They were not as cloudy. "My body must really like those pills. You got some really good ones."

D nodded.

After a pause, Miranda took his hand in her right one. "I, uh... just... want to say thank you..."

"You're welcome," was his soft reply. His eyes, so chillingly blue they looked like they were covered in a film of ice, never once tried to meet hers, but Miranda would not be sure it was because he was afraid.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author... Also, I switched the lyrics of the last chapter to THIS one. Made more sense to me.

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

_I can't run anymore  
I give myself to you  
I'm sorry,  
I'm sorry  
In all my bitterness  
I ignored  
All that's real and true  
All I need is you  
When night falls on me  
I'll not close my eyes  
I'm too alive  
And you're too strong  
I can't lie anymore  
I fall down before you  
I'm sorry  
I'm sorry_

_October_, Evanescence

* * *

In the dark of swiftly falling night, the heavens unleashed their treacherous tears and wept for the tragedies that had been and will be. Lightning struck the earth in retaliation and anger against the travesties done to the earth, as if punishing those who still struggled to carve out a life on its wild mutant shores. It poured like never before, though the crops greatly needed the rain.

In the kitchen, the dhampir hunter showed astounding knowledge in antidote mixing once the poison had been identified. Miranda would not die from the poison, of course, but from the degeneration of immunity. By taking care of herself and only taking her medication when she absolutely needed it, Miranda could slowly regain what had been lost. He mixed her a tall glass of thick, bittersweet antidote with local roots and herbs and carried it to her as she sat quietly at the cutting table on an old wooden chair.

"Drink this," he said in a quiet, calm murmur. "It will help you sleep tonight and refresh you for the morrow."

The woman pursed her lips, gazing at the stuff. Its smell was said to be the most uncommonly alluring thing in the world, but there was nothing to be said for its flavor. Regardless, she took it from him without question and took the first of many long, difficult mouthfuls and drank it. The face she made, given the flavor, was understandable. She looked as though she had swallowed a pebble and it wasn't going down right.

With a shudder and a shake of her head, she managed five more mouthfuls of the stuff before she put it down and declared, "I can't have another drop. It's disgusting as hell and normally I don't mind medicine... but this is--"

"Drink it all. Don't breathe when you're about to take a sip." D stood near the table across from her, a black phantasm hovering in an unusual, motherly fashion. "I understand how bad it tastes. You did well so far. Most people can't take more than three sips without becoming sick to their stomach."

"What's in this, anyway?"

"Some herbs. Mostly it's natural immune boosters. I added the flavor to make it go down better." D seemed slightly affronted that she still thought it tasted bad. "I suppose it can't be helped."

Once again Miranda lowered her eyes and smiled slightly, twining a piece of hair around her finger before raking her hand through the rest of her hair. "I'm sorry... I'll try my best to drink it all."

"As long as you drink at least over half." He made no movement other than to look up, tilting his head to one side; in the distance, his ears caught the sounds of footsteps approaching toward the kitchen.

"It's a deal, then." She closed her eyes. Some of the sedative was working on her already; she seemed to relax, slowly extending her legs out before her. "You know, it's not bad if you try to think of it as a milkshake that's just gone warm. D... do you really want the money? Because, you can have it."

"I don't want it. You destroyed it; the reward rightfully belongs to you."

The door swung open, revealing Venson and the sheriff, whose broad shoulders were burdened down with a bag of what looked like clothes. "My wife wanted to let you borrow these." He put the bag in front of Miranda; his eyes completely missed D, who had retreated some four or five steps out of sight for awhile.

"Oh! Thanks, I guess." She poked at the bag before taking another sip, followed by a disgusted face and a smacking of the lips.

"What is that?"

"Just a tonic D made for me."

The sheriff looked around suddenly at the mention of the dhampir. Superstitious, but not unreasonably so. He at least tried to smile when the half-vampire stranger revealed himself. "Well, I hope you feel better."

Having returned to the comfort of clean-swept hallways and soft beds, D and Miranda finally had a chance to speak with Mayor Venson and the sheriff, to whom D related the entire story with help from Miranda. Their eyes grew big when Miranda calmly described how she had detonated her own arm inside the demon and destroyed it from within, and their eyebrows raised when D reiterated two times the presence of the day-walking Noble in the castle. They examined the teeth that D had retrieved from the creatures corpse, which had since been picked clean by smaller predators underground, the same sharp teeth that had ripped apart Miranda's body years before.

The law man gave a large shrug of his large, muscular shoulders, raking a single hand through his short, spiked blonde hair. "Well... while I don't really enjoy living under the glare of a Noble who can walk during the day, he doesn't bother us much, honest, it seems like. And you've been rather helpful in killing that monster - you said it was a True Demon?"

"That's right," Miranda sighed. Her voice had given out awhile ago, and she had drained the whole glass during the conversation. The talk had distracted her from its flavor, but she was so tired she had completely missed the nod of satisfaction that the Hunter had given her when he noticed her put down the empty glass with a relieved sigh.

"So, you both get your money. Split it. Keep it. Do whatever you want with it. But we'd appreciate it if the Vampire Hunter leaves as soon as possible. No offense." The mayor gave the dhampir a slightly mild expression of unbelievable recompense.

D said nothing.

"I'm not leaving," Miranda interrupted quietly. "That Noble we're after... it seems I have history with him as well."

"But surely you can't go after him in your condition. You look like you're about to fall asleep in that chair, Hunter."

"Not so. I can stay up as long as I want." She gave a little lop-sided grin that looked half-conniving more than convincing. "But, I'm not going to go after him. You see, since I killed the monster, that money is rightfully mine... and I'm using it to hire D to go after the Noble for me."

The sheriff and the mayor looked at each other... blinked, turned and one of them said, "Can she do that?" And the other replied, "Well, it's really her money now even though we haven't really given it to her yet..."

Finally, Mayor Venson said, "Miss Delaclaire, I suppose it's a deal. After all, even if the vampire is after you it may just come after us again. Besides, if this be a real Noble, which I hardly believe it is, then we can't take any chances at all! So... rest up tonight, folks. Miss Delaclaire, do you have a place to sleep? Would you like another room since the other one's window is still rather broken?"

Miranda waved her hand vaguely. She had begun to lean her chin in her hand. D stepped forward. "Since I've hardly been given a chance to speak for myself... then I have no choice but to accept her offer."

"The reward was ninety-thousand dollars. Do you accept?"

"I do."

"Good! She looks tuckered out... Should I get someone to help her up the stairs?"

"No. She'll be fine," D assured him in a flat, monotone voice that clearly expressed his desire for them to leave. The men took the hint and went out the way they had come. From their topic of discussion, they were on to new and better things such as the festival that the fire-eater, Mouka, had mentioned a couple of days ago.

"I didn't think you'd drink it all," he murmured as he lifted Miranda from the chair. She gave a soft noise of complaint but slowly awoke as she stood by his side. In the darkness, they were led by a quiet, kind house maid to Miranda's new bedroom, their footsteps punctuated by each flash and flicker of lightning. The thunder was far away and distant, but the light show was quite impressive.

This room was far finer than the last, decked out with a large queen-sized bed with thick, down-filled covers and pillows, powdery white and green and some silver stitching; it even had the music player on the gilded bureau dresser. D was forced to remain outside of the room in the corridor as the maids undressed and tended to Miranda, asking her if she was alright and if she needed any special assistance. She insisted that no, any assistance she could have needed was unnecessary as of a few years ago when her body simply quit functioning reproductively in order to respect the other needs her cybernetic body required.

Afterwards, Miranda said in a very tired but clear voice that she wanted to be left alone now, and that she appreciated everyone's concern.

From that moment, she opened the door and looked D in the eye. Most of her warrior clothing had been swapped out in favor of something more comfortable. She truly looked strange now, her half-metallic arm at her side clenched. Her feet were bare but they looked quite normal aside from the fact that no blood pumped through them and they functioned purely by man-made means.

But it was that arm, torn into by the teeth, stripping away artificial flesh that looked half-healed and sore, that drew his gaze first - and he wished it hadn't. Miranda felt, rather than saw, where his gaze went, and she turned her body to the side so he wouldn't see it. The hem of her midnight blue sleeping gown swayed and danced like the swelling of an ocean current as she moved across the floor. The thunder was too loud for him to hear the whine of macabre machinery inside of her legs.

"I'm going to wash. I can't stand having those women look at me, like I'm still a cripple," she said, struggling to mask her anger. "Just... wait in here or something."

D nodded, and a wave of discomfort fled through him as she shut the door to the bathroom, leaving him in darkness and in silence. He heard the squeak of the pipes as water rushed in through them, and every vision of her in that dress that still burned bright in his eye's memory filled him with heat... and it was this heat that made him ache, ache in ways he had learned to accept but hate in his own quiet way.

His fangs pricked against his lower lip as he stood pensively near the window.

The water turned off. He could hear her feet as she stepped into the water, the slosh and drip. The thunder and lightning had found some other part of the Frontier to torment, and the quiet in the room allowed him to hear even her steady, tired heartbeat. Her breathing as it shortened suddenly, then hitched altogether by the first of her sobs. She was struggling to rein in her tears, perhaps fully knowledgeable that he could hear everything.

She emerged all the same, letting the tub drain as she shut off the lamps. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. She walked out in the same midnight, star-studded night gown that had the frustrating propensity to show the slender curves of her body for only a pieces of seconds at a time. He stared at her in the reflection of the glass for several seconds before turning to watch her as she unwrapped her hair, brushing it. Her left hand - the metal monstrosity - clenched with alarming tightness on the brush, purely by accident, and it had almost snapped. She dropped it... and picked it up again with her right hand instead.

D immediately went to her side. Startled, she turned to stand, but he pressed her down again on the edge of the bed, took her left arm in his gentle hands and turned it over so the palm was facing up. "What's wrong with it? You didn't get it wet...?"

"No, I didn't. I kept it out of the water the whole time." Her fingers trembled when he brushed them with the tips of his. At least her pressure sensory was still working.

He squeezed her hand. "Try to squeeze back. Don't worry about hurting me. Just try."

Miranda's fingers slowly closed, applying a nervous pressure before her fingers suddenly locked around his tightly. Her gasp pulled a chuckle, rare as a flower in winter, from his mouth. "It's alright. I think you have a glitch."

While he detangled their fingers, she asked in a low voice, "Can you fix it?"

"I think I can."

In less than a minute, he did; the procedure was a simple adjustment and realignment of nigh invisible micro machinery in her flesh that made a slight sizzle when his tiny needle made contact with one of the circuits. Then it was over, and she slid away from him, extending her arm, turning it over, palm up, palm down, fingers flexing, wiggling. They danced across her other arm, pinching until she left a red mark.

"Thanks again, D. I--" Eyes raised, she caught sight of the half-winged blackness that was D as he abruptly raised himself from the bed with the grace of a jaguar, raising one arm across his face and looking away. A tepid, red glow had stolen over both of his surreal blue eyes, rendering his visage something of a horror.

But it was only there for a second before the rest of his muscular body turned away, his back facing her. She froze in place, uncertain, as the cold chill in the air stole over her, raising goose bumps on her right arm and all along the nap of her neck.

"D," she said in a low voice. "What's wrong with you?"

He said nothing for a moment, turning back toward her, and reaching out. She refused to allow herself to shy away, even if every cell in her body screamed to run and hide from him. His touch was soft and unexpectedly warm, inviting like the heat left by the press of another's skin against your sheets; fingertips traced soft lines from her left bicep to her shoulder where, seamlessly, the junction of skin met metal in a fair representation of perfection.

His breath came in a soft exhale, "Does it hurt you?"

"S-Sometimes," puzzled Miranda answered, turning her head away sharply when his touch found a particularly sensitive patch of skin just behind her neck. His fingers draped themselves there lightly as if having no better place to find their rest, before all at once the contact was gone.

She was trembling; no man had ever touched her in that tender, softest of ways in years. No man would even look at her the way he was now, with those soft and troubled and thankfully crystal blue eyes. It gave her a deep sense of being needed, somehow, but she could hardly believe a person like D could ever want her.

At least she was half-right.

"Good night, Miranda," he said briskly, breathless as though having run a respectable distance. And then he quit her presence, as gone as a dream in late afternoon.

* * *

As soon as the door closed, the broad, brooding shadow called D gave an alarming stagger toward the opposite wall and leaned one shoulder against it. It was as if all the strength and quiet grace had gone out of his body, leaving him with what remained: the brute monster that ruled his soul when mortals opened their hearts to him in the hope that he would take their bodies as his.

Had Miranda truly hoped for that? She didn't seem to outwardly desire such a thing. But regardless, he had heard the remarkable pounding of her heart inside of her, the rush of blood hot in her veins, calling to him, _I want you. I want you, please, I want _so_ to be inside you._

And while these words echoed into the dusty cathedral of his soul, his own heart had begun to pound, rocking against his chest as if straining against the sinuous bonds that held it there. His breath was ragged, and a small tormented sound escaped his throat as he sagged against the wall, clenching his hands so tight that it brought a muffled cry of discomfort from his left palm.

"So it's the blood that calls to you now?" the parasite murmured. "I see how it is. It's even harder to resist when you feel the same way, isn't it...? Now you know why vampires are such sticklers for romance."

D didn't answer right away. Effectively silenced by his turmoil, he remained where he was until he could no longer hear her heart beating so close to his as when they sat on the bed side-by-side. His fingertips still tingled with the sensation of her soft skin, the scent of the shampoo she had used on her hair haunting his senses like a beautiful dream.

The bloodlust was a school of rats gnawing at his will. He wanted so much to turn around and stride back into that room and take her throat in his hands and stroke until the blood rose to the surface, flush and full, and to take the first, delicate bite and see if the taste of true blood, not the synthetic stuff in pills, is as good as the Nobles say...

"Snap out of it, D," the parasite snarled. "You can't. And you know what will happen if you do. Just because she doesn't have any family doesn't mean people here won't come after you! Remember, D! 'If I do kill a human, then another will hunt me!' And don't forget, that includes the both of us!"

D's hoarse, panting breaths slowly quieted. His eyes, which had been a smoldering, lurid crimson for the past few seconds, began to calm. His aching teeth retracted to some extent, although not entirely, and his bloodlust fled to the dark corner, banished by his will. Trembling, he pulled his hat down across his eyes pensively. While his bloodlust fled him, the rest of his body ached with the desires of a human. Her body had looked soft, not harsh and metallic at all, and he had let his imagination run wild for in instant - imagining, for awhile, what her body would be like pressed innocently against his, without the fragile satin cloth that barred him from the forbidden sin of touching it...

Once again this image flared like sunlight behind his closed eyelids. He shoved it firmly away from him as he straightened, taking a deep and calming breath

_No_, he promised himself. _I've been too close with her. Too friendly. I have to keep away, or I will become just what the Nobles are - helpless, screaming prisoners of their own thirst._

* * *

The black-haired figure walked quietly through the rain-soaked streets. The lightning continuously flashed in the distance, but its voice was silenced by the miles between his ears and the underscoring flashes of heat lightning that bounced between the dark, floundering clouds.

It seemed whatever he touched was chilled to its very core. Even the water seemed to slow in time when it came near, the puddles under his feet crackling and freezing as he stepped into them with scuffed traveler's boots. The bare gleam of sword steel caught the glimmers of energy that sometimes flashed directly overhead. But other than that, the cloaked man moved as though drugged, half-exhausted by something. Through the mud, the sword-tip dragged, making a ringing noise that filled the spaces where silence would have reigned supreme.

A voice mumbled incoherently, and a dribble of blood fell from his tongue. His eyes were drawn in, the skin tight and emaciated over what had once been a beautiful, youthful face. His eyes were a deep, gleaming amethyst, sparkling in the dark, framed by perfectly symmetrical, femininely curved eyebrows. A torque sat neatly around his throat, and tiny veins of black spidered outward from where it sunk into his skin.

"Close," mumbled the stranger in a thick voice. "Close now." A lop-sided smile broke the whiteness of his face in a cracked snarl of pleasure.

_And she will be mine..._


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author... Also, I switched the lyrics of the last chapter to THIS one. Made more sense to me.

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

-- -- -- --

Mouka danced along the edge of the rooftop gutter. He loved to clamber on top of the rooftops in the rain, daring fate to make the tiles perhaps too slippery and send him crashing to his death. He hated the rain, to be honest, but he liked to tempt fire in the moisture to challenge himself. He would whisper into existence the little flames that glowed, so when people peered out their windows and saw him dancing, on fire, apparently, from the wrists down, they might call the authorities or simply be transfixed.

He had long been thinking about Miranda Delaclair. It was impossible _not_ to. She was beautiful, despite her painfully obvious enhancements. She was a tragic heroine figure who deserved the love of someone who could equal her passion. And yet whenever she needed a man, it was the dhampir who was at her side to hold her up. He had not forgotten the burn of disappointment in his face when he saw the pair ride boldly into town with D holding her in his arms, heading to the pharmacist's.

The fire-eater tried not to let it bother him. He let the comforts of the flames soothe away his emotions, and for awhile he was at peace.

_For awhile._

He stopped at the edge of the roof. Had he heard footsteps? Or was it just his overactive imagination? He doused his flames; then he knelt, peering into the alley below. A cold chill raced up along his back, and suddenly he was struck with the shivers. The air - it had been almost too hot a few seconds before - turned bitingly cold, as if some atmospheric anomaly had sucked all the heat from the air.

Mouka tried hard not to imagine that sort of monster, when he caught sight of the person who had made the footsteps. It was a man, or what looked like one. He looked absolutely emaciated, to the point where Mouka was pretty sure the creature could not be any way human. His teeth clicked together sharply, and he lurched away as the creature lifted his head to peer up at the roof.

"No use hiding up there," said the creature's cool, calm voice. It seemed the very anti-thesis of fire - cold as ice, calm as flat pools of frozen concentration. "I can hear your heart pounding, even with these failing ears."

The building shuddered... and then the roof tiles under his hands and feet started sliding away. He screamed, fully expecting to fall off into space before dying upon hitting the ground. But he stopped, as if some great force had captured him.

He found himself staring into the penetrating, haunted eyes of the emaciated zombie man. But the voice was totally incongruous to the wrinkled face, and indeed to everything else about him. When Mouka heard that voice, he imagined a taller man, of stronger build with the same piercing, calculating eyes. He imagined someone with a cloak, perhaps.

Gods, he hated his imagination.

"There you are. See now, all you had to do was jump down and I would have caught you."

"Who are you?" Mouka desperately rubbed his finger and thumb together, trying to generate enough heat for fire. If he could just get a spark - a hint, maybe...

"Your master," the seductive purr replied.

Eyes slowly widened as the word conjured the most horrific images he could have imagined. Those eyes positively drank up his fear, and the thin, chapped lips curved into a fanged smile.

-- -- -- --

The rain's voice was a constant tune D listened to, standing and sometimes sitting on a chair, guarding Miranda's room. After he had hastily removed himself from her presence, she had discovered herself far too exhausted to pursue him and demand answers. It was unlikely she would forgot to ask when she woke up, unless something happened to put it off.

Eventually as the dawn approached, the rain slackened and it was with a little apprehension that he witnessed the first of the sun's rays peak over the mountaintops, through a jagged tear in the face of the clouds, a gaping hole through which the sunlight poured like blood. The bright rays swirled and turned, luminescent clock hands turning as the minutes ticked by. The river was swollen, its muddy belly nearly overflowing its banks. Yet the sun was hot enough now to draw away some of the moisture from the earth and make the humidity almost unbearable.

When Miranda emerged, she was dressed again in her armor, which had been delivered earlier, cleaned, pressed, and mended. Her hair was brushed again, and plaited and washed. She avoided looking directly at D, but instead moved confidently down the hall.

"We have work to do," she told him flatly. D began to follow her.

She stopped.

"You didn't have to guard me all night. You could have gone looking for him," she went on. D said nothing, having already decided that he refused to have a conversation with the back of her head. Finally, his ploy worked; she turned around, looking him over. "Well?"

"I don't have to answer to you," he replied in very brief, cutting monotone. "Even though you're returning the money I gave to you."

"Asshole," Miranda cursed, yet turned her head away the next instant, laughing. "Fine. Come along, and be my puppy if that's what you want. I don't mind. Just don't get in my way. Now that I know I've been poisoned, I think I'll be just fine. Thank you again, by the way, for saving me."  
D followed, tilting his head forward to hide his smile. "Alright. No problem."

They traversed the corridors and were almost at the stables when they were apprehended by the sheriff and the mayor once again. They appeared both red-spotted in the face and apparently desperate to get out of the heat.

"Hunters! Mouka had just been reported missing from his room!"

"When?" Miranda turned, arching her brow, and then apparently remembering who the man was.

"About nine-o'-clock this morning. There were strange lights on the roof, probably him practicing his art in the rain, and then he was gone. Well, his lights went out. He didn't return to his room."

"Damn it. Didn't anyone tell him not to go outside at night? And in the rain!" Miranda's eyes flashed with uncompromising anger. "What a fool! We have to find that creature of yours quickly, D, or who knows what sort of sorcery Mouka will be capable of, if and when he's changed!"

"You don't know that," D said quietly, laying his left hand on her shoulder. "But it is high time we went searching." He looked to the sheriff with a heart stopping stare. "Did you find anything else?"

"Well...I don't know if it's even related, but someone said their roof fell apart the other night. Actually," said Venson, arching a slender brow. "It's the same roof Mouka was standing on just before he disappeared!"

"Perfect," D said, although whether he was being sarcastic or grateful, they couldn't say. Without another word he moved like noiseless silk into the stable and found his horse and Miranda's well in hand.  
So he said, "Let's go for a walk. It's too hot to ride."

The sheriff gave them the address of the house whose roof had broken in the night. The two hunters made their way to the front door, and Miranda was the one who was most well-received because she was still human... even if she was physically disabled to an obvious degree.

"Sure, come in! But, um, he has to stay outside. I don't like the look of him!"

"He's been in town for awhile, and you don't want him in your house? Don't be a fool; please, the sunlight bothers him, I think, so please let him in."

D unexpectedly said, "No. It's fine." He stepped away, and walked around the side of the house to inspect the damage. There was already someone on the roof, trying to replace the tiles. Some of the tiles still remained on the ground. The rain had stopped quickly in the night, and as he moved into the alley, he slowed as his eyes swept the ground surrounding the broken pieces.

In the mud, perfectly conspicuous, partially caked into the ground, was his first clue. Miranda was speaking to the family in the house; their voices permeated the walls and he could hear her quite clearly as he bent to pick up the piece of wood, with clear writing on it.

"It's not as if he can help what he is, damn it," Miranda insisted. "He could have been long gone by now, but he's staying and doing you all a favor! Did you know Mouka the fire-eater was kidnapped last night? Yeah, it was the vampire."

D read the inscription. 'I've taken the fire-dancer to my lair. You will find it in the forest, of course, so be on your toes, dhampir.'

"No, D didn't have anything to do with it! You idiots!" Miranda broke something. Something clattered and crashed, and the family shrieked.

"She seems to be doing well," said the voice from his left hand. "But you might want to check on her before she tears the house apart in her rage. She seems real protective of you!"

D, however, had not been invited into the house. He could have gone in, but it seemed his appearance might have made matters worse. So he remained outside, until he went to the window and caught her attention by motioning silently for her to leave.

She stormed out, dusting herself off. "Pigs!" she snarled. "You should have seen the state of their house."  
"I found this," D interrupted politely, handing the piece of wood.

The anger in her dark eyes went away, sputtering out as she caught sight of the piece of wood. She turned it over, blinked, read it. "Why do they always have to hold all the cards, D?" she said softly. "I'm not in a very big hurry to go running into a big forest. I don't particularly care much for that man, but if there's any chance that he's there waiting for us, we should go."

"You're not going with me."

"One," Miranda turned to him, poking his chest, "don't start that again. Two, I'm a full-grown woman, not one of those half-grown, bouncy pre-teens that probably have latched onto your leg more times than you can remember, and three... can I just say, you're sweet for caring, but I'm coming anyway?"

D stepped back once. That was all, and it was probably the most amusing because Miranda smirked, already a woman, who bore children, confident in her own power over man. She already had total and complete mastery over D, fully knowledgeable of his attraction to her and his desire to taste the river of blood in her veins. She commanded his actions and he knew it, sadly; what was worse, he no longer cared... but only allowed it until she herself was in danger.

Then it wouldn't matter one whit what the hell she said, or did, to influence him otherwise.

The pair stared at one another in a lengthening moment of silent understanding, peppered with a smile and a soft laugh that seemed to spark a warming cloak of companionship around them. It was weirdly exhilarating for D, who had never felt such with anyone before, really, and did not feel threatened.  
Miranda was no foolish girl of youth, but a lady with a wagonload of social skills and a cunning to implement them. But she did not waste such skills on humans. Gone was the fire that had filled her eyes from arguing with the dunderheads inside that house. She moved like a leopard, sliding past him while balancing the piece of wood in her palm, and then disappeared out into the early morning street.

D felt his knees stop shaking and wondered if it had been noticeable. "You idiot," he hissed to himself.

-- -- -- --

Miranda and D arranged to share a bit of the money for supplies when it came down to the type of attack they were planning to execute. After that, it was growing late, and Miranda had treated herself to a large lunch while the dhampir took a nap in the dark of one of the rooms.

Then, sometime during the mid-afternoon, the hunters took their horses and rode far out into the wilderness, passed the fence barriers of the crop fields and toward the wall of green towers. The trees seemed to hum with the multitude of life harbored inside, and the leaves themselves whispered as though faeries hid behind every one. D wasn't sure if Miranda could feel it, but he seemed to imagine himself riding toward the sleeping form of an enormous living thing whose heart completed a beat per year.

"So old. I wonder how these trees could have stood for so long?" The words were directed mostly to himself. But the parasite responded quietly.

"The closer we get, the weirder I'm startin' to feel. It's like the forest is pulling us in; I can't describe it, really, it's just... it's like everything in there is waiting on bated breath for us to enter. Not only that, but deeper inside..."

D waited, until he could not any longer. "What?"

"I don't know. I don't feel well. I'm going to rest for a bit, if you don't mind." And D could not pull any more information out of the parasite. He frowned, bent his head to the wind and spurred his cyborg steed faster.

The ground seemed to be grass and hills one moment and then immediately there grew a series of bushes and ferns; there was literally a straight where the forest began and the grassy knolls ended. Miranda pulled to a stop as they ranged the edge of the trees searching for a straight-forward path inside. Ten men would have trouble wrapping their arms together around the base of the largest of the trees, which seemed to be a sparse mixture of deciduous and pine. There was a distant noise in the forest, which was anything but quiet. Birds sang, cicadas were raising their chorus, and predators footsteps snapped and echoed among the corridors of dark green. The air seemed so much heavier in amongst the trees, as if the thing had lungs, and a multitude of eyes to watch the pair as they penetrated the forest at last using an old deer path to the inner sanctum.

Faeries did indeed roost among the trees. It was a dark as night in some places where the canopy was so thick with vegetation that it sucked the light from the world. The only good that came out of it was there was very little growth that would hinder their progress. Therefore, as they rode along, the faeries would descend from their branches and encircle the travelers as if trying to coax them off their path. Miranda wasn't afraid, but they were known often for their mischief and she kept a hand on her sword. They came in a multitude of colors, from pink to blue to green, purple and yellow. They were beautiful and eventually they came close enough so that Miranda could examine closely their naked bodies. They came to her and brought her leaves from the trees high above, and one of even brought a full flower blossom. Males and females ranged around her, perched on her shoulders, and tried to whisper things to her in her ear before D politely waved them away.

Broadening gradually, the path allowed the two to ride side-by-side. In time, the sun set and the forest was absolutely devoid of light aside from what the creatures of the night let off. The faeries held their own court and soon left the uninteresting strangers to their traveling.

"Is it wise to go in the dark?" Miranda found herself whispering. Her body felt slick with sweat, and she thought of taking some medicine before she continued.

D was about to provide an answer, maybe a bit of comfort, but she did not sound particularly frightened. Only annoyed that she could only see half as good as the dhampir's eyes. But then he stopped, looking forward as the forest seemed to halt at the perimeter of a large, stooping fort made of stone. There was an inviting glow of firelight from within, but Miranda distrusted it immediately. Crickets chirped, but their noise was far away, somewhere behind her.

What's more, the beating, crushing energy that had so filled the darkness of the forest seemed to have fled this sector completely. It felt coldly devoid of all life, which any self-respecting hunter always took as a bad sign. D's response was inconceivable to most, who would have turned and fled to kinder corners of the wood. He dismounted, hitched his horse at the edge of the clearing and advanced. Miranda followed, but remained behind.

In the lantern light, Miranda saw D approach the doors. She remained behind, slowly sliding her fingers along her belt until she felt the comforting weight of the two high-powered pistols she had purchased. Neither of them had cost much and left her - D, technically - with enough cash to still consider this job a gain.

The open-spaced yard beyond the doors was littered with rubble and what appeared to be a broken vehicle that had probably run itself, centuries ago. Grass and vines had long since begun to lay siege to what remained. Similar things occurred to the stones and wooden poles that also served some other service when the fort had been in use. D noted how everything looked simplified and quaint - a trademark of human architecture back when survival was more essential than how pretty it looked.

Miranda's feet were silent on the ground. She tried her best not to disturb a single stone, but it did no good. They were expected. She hardly saw it coming, but her reflexes more than made up for the stealth of the assault. A ball of fire rose up right around her legs. She sprang away, smacking her gloved hand at the flames that had caught her pant leg on fire. She hadn't noticed when D had drawn the long, cruel looking blade that had always been sheathed at his back, but when she saw him he was standing between her and... Mouka.

Mouka was shirtless, standing in just his black and orange trousers, his feet bare and covered in mud. Just behind him, the cloaked man wearing the red-jeweled torque seemed to hover in the shadows where the torchlight did not reach. The fire-eater's hands were consumed by flames, and he held them out, open at his sides, his stance weakened by the control. But his eyes were full of fire as well, and behind them... nothing. As if the real Mouka had fallen asleep and he was sleep-walking.

"I would advise you take care not to injure this precious entertainer." The voice was a taint of another man's voice, but primarily the deep, silken voice of a Noble. Only a Noble's voice could have such a despairing influence on Miranda, whose eyes immediately softened.

She shook her head. D said nothing, but then: "You want to trade. That must be it, isn't it? ...Why?"

"I don't think it's really a matter of importance to you, D. After all, she's just a human. But that human... she is perhaps more valuable to me, and this body to her... more than you can imagine."

Miranda walked around to stand beside D, her eyes narrowing slowly as she caught sight of the face, so old and wasted and yet uncannily familiar to her. "Give back my son. Whatever you've done with him... at least tell me what you've done with him!" Her voice, once so steady, broke with anger. "Tell me, damn it!"

The not-quite-vampire smiled slowly. The gruesome expression terrified Miranda to the core, more than the words that followed. "I have slept inside this little crystal for over three-hundred years," he replied, touching the jewel at his throat. "I've waited, patiently, for my prison to fall into possession of my human ancestors, for it is their blood that makes the pair of us compatible. And then, when you left... there came along a little boy. His name was Chase Delaclair."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author... Also, I switched the lyrics of the last chapter to THIS one. Made more sense to me.

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

"And ever since the heirloom discovered, he took it with him. No one was the wiser. He grew up with it in his possession, and finally when he was strong enough to bear its life-draining curse, I decided to bid him to wear it. I whispered into his thoughts, and he obeyed like a little boy should," the vampire murmured. 

"How did this happen?" D's voice was cold as frozen pebbles, dropped into the long silence. Miranda's heart was beating all the harder. It was difficult for both of the vampiric ones to ignore.

"You'd love to know, wouldn't you, my scholarly dhampir?" Chase Delaclair hissed, his lips peeling back in a dark smile of pointed fangs. "I'll tell you, while you still have ears to listen..." The vampire withdrew a little, sliding along the wall before finding a broken boulder. He sat down, drawing his sword and poked the tip into the soft, grassy dirt between his boots. Mouka still stood nearby, having moved to place himself obediently at the possessed young man's side, red tongues of flames still tentatively tasting at the air from his fingertips.

"The family Delaclair as old as this forest, and the bloodline goes back as far as the first vampire Delaclair. The human family was favored for its aristocracy and therefore under the advantageous protection of their dark and powerful family members. The mother's bloodline was strong enough that nearly half of that family's women became turned. Ah, that was long, long ago. The glory days."

"And then what?" Miranda whispered, listening as attentively, her need to learn almost as great as her need to figure out how to get her only, beloved, abused child back to normal.

"While we were busily securing our hold in the lands that your family controlled, we had forgotten the cardinal rule to watch our own backs. During the day, many of our lot were slain and only a few of us escaped. But we devised a plan, a foolish plan, but it was all we had; using sorcery, a little bit of luck, and perseverance. We wanted to ensure our own futures, seeing as the time was slowly coming for vampires to descend from the limelight and let the weakling mortals have their place.

"In time, our toils awarded us with this," Chase said in the vampire's voice, while his narrow, bony fingers gently plucked at the red-jeweled torque. As he touched it, the gem flickered with an inner fire and resonated with a grinding, low note. "Imbued with the undying spirit of a vampire - me, Mathias Il Delaclair. It was given as an anonymous peace offering to the family, set in this precious metal torque for any lady to wear it... but none have touched it since Chase's hands. His ambition to find his mother, whom he loved and missed and felt sorry for with all his pathetic heart, helped me to lure his gullible mind with promises of making that dream come true."

A creeping, dark cold, clammy as a corpse's fingers, caressed Miranda's cheek. She hated the feel of it and literally recoiled as if something or someone had touched her. A voice then interrupted the clamor of her mind, caressing worm-slick through her brain.

_You are not the beautiful Miranda I heard about, but a wretched excuse... I can make you beautiful again if you wear this torque that suspends me in spiritual form. I can make you **whole** again. I can take away all your sickness and misery and make you more than you ever were. T_he prospect was invigorating, and the images that were blossoming behind her now closed, enraptured eyes gave her cause to freeze and indulge in such a fantasy.

_Imagine: the dhampir will not be able to resist you because I will not allow him to. He will be yours, because it is within my power to make it so. You can bed him as many times as you please, for he is handsome, is he not? you can taste food again without fear of becoming ill; you can run in the sunshine without worrying constantly for your wretched limbs. Let me take you, darling Miranda Delaclair... let me--_

A horrible shriek of earsplitting hatred arose, snapping her clear out of the delectable fantasy he had described for her, conjured up within her mind, and instead found herself face-to-face with the man himself. D had moved; time stood still for all of them as his sword flew, but instead met nothing but flames as Miranda was spirited out of reach inside Mathias's arms. She struggled, her hair-raising scream of outrage breaking the spell he had almost woven.

Her sword cut through empty air. She heard Mathias howl, "Mouka! Subdue the dhampir! Burn him alive!"

All around them, the trees had come alive with whispers, promises from the wind of a storm yet to come. Miranda felt every inch of her body come alive with a raging fire that was known only when the heat of battle overcame her; her adrenaline pounded against her temples, the tension in her back loosened only to refocus for the strain. She chased Mathias into the fort, thinking as clearly as if he were just another foe. But in the back of her mind, her motherly instincts, long slumbering, wakened and screamed at her to save her son if she could.

But the reasonable part of her, the cynical part, doubted this night would end happily at all. A churning stomach of fear daggered its way into her chest and tried to suffocate her, a nagging voice in the back of her mind as her focused skill fueled by hatred bade her chase her possessed son into the darkness in order to try to save him.

She burst into the fort's main corridor. The ceiling was broken, letting the broken patches of moonlight fall, splashing blue luminance on the ghastly countenance of her son, whose fangs were gleaming white, and the sword he wielded a mean scythe with which to take everything she loved away from her. Smoldering anger choked the words out of her throat.

"Can't speak, can you? That is quite all right. I know you are excited to see Chase again. He's told me how much he misses you and loves you," the vampire spirit purred.

"You don't have any room to talk," she whispered, sliding her fingers to her pistols even as her other hand still grasped the sword. "I want my son back. Give him back to me."

She fired until her ammunition chamber clicked with a depressing note of emptiness that no gunslinger likes to hear. She couldn't get close enough to him to cut him with her sword. She already suffered almost losing a finger to him, but it was just a gash in her hand, nothing more, but it still hurt, and the thought of dirt getting into it, infection, and the long ride back set her nerves grating. With a snarl of determination, she drew the leaves from her belt and thanked the faeries in her mind for their impromptu generosity. And she thanked them a second time as soon as she put them to use, as the hard, knife-like projectiles connected with her enemy's sword arm and severed tendons and bones, rendering her enemy at last feasibly immobile. She would have felt giddy with imminent victory if it had not been the burning regret for injuring her son's body.

She drew another leaf almost precisely at the same moment the other lunged to attack. If the vampire within the torque gem had truly been a vampire and not a spirit commandeering a body, she would have been dead already. The huntress could tell simply by looking at Chase why he wasn't faster than her, why he wasn't killing her straight away. Her eyes glistened with a wildcat's diaphanous fire. His body was wrecked, a mere phantom of what it had probably once been...

Leveling her weapon with a speed to mock a vampire's, she released the leaf with cybernetic focus, her eyes locating an instant weak point on the torque. The leaf hardened into a razor's point that could pierce armor thick as two-foot, and it exploded with a spray of red with sparks. It left an ugly black mark rather than a raw hole, and for a second Chase's expression melted into one of absolute horror, the lips quivering and eyes staring wide, before it dissolved into a blank, unconscious glaze.

Miranda caught him under the arm before he hit the ground. She did not even remember how she had gotten to his side so fast. He felt as light as a toddler (like when he was young and beautiful and Fate had not yet cast his dice badly for her); he moved just as weakly. The torque and its red gem dimmed and fell to the floor near her foot. Trembling, the young man reached up and placed his hand on her cheek weakly. They crouched in a pool of moonlight amidst the old broken stones that had made this fort strong.

"M... _Mother_..."

-- -- -- --

In the vestibule, D was surrounded by a wall of fire that made his face flush and red like a chaste youth's. Mouka had summoned it up from the very earth around him, and it threatened to close over his head and slowly burn him alive. But D had withstood the temperatures of the desert, hellish in their own right, and his body was not as weak as normal man's. He had barely broken out in a sweat, and surprisingly enough, he simply closed his eyes and held his sword tightly, despite the heat that would have made any mortal man drop it in agony.

"Is it hot enough for you, dhampir?" came the uncanny cry from the circle of scorching fire. "The fire cleanses and makes room for rebirth. It is life in all its destruction; it's beautiful but deadly, so can you withstand it for much longer? I can always turn it up for you!"

The dhampir unsurprisingly said nothing. Finally he opened his left palm, his eyes opening once again. "So it's that again, is it?" came a strange mumble from that vicinity. "I see how it is. Slave driver, like always."

After a moment, the face that appeared in D's left hand wrinkled its nose and sneered, before gaping its horrific maw wide, steadily sucking in the air. The noise was stupendous, like a giant vacuum slowly pulling in everything - oxygen, fire, smoke, and it did not seem to bother the little parasite one bit. Quickly, the blaze that had threatened to roast D's body into ashes dissipated, and as soon as it was gone, D saw the fire magician standing with eyes wide open.

"Impossible," the man murmured. "But I see now..."

In a heartbeat, D flung himself toward the other. It was no challenge to apprehend the fire magician and twist his arm behind his back painfully. He cried out like a wounded, terrified animal. But then he saw D's hand return the sword to his back.

"What are you doing?" the young man demanded, snarling with spittle flying his mouth. "Let me go! Are you going to suck my blood out like a true vampire, or are you still a coward! Let me go!"

"You're a fool to control this man and fight a battle at the same time," D said, his chilling voice gently mocking. Then it took on a slightly darker tone, and his words seemed to echo into eternity, making the light flee where shadows rushed in. "And now you've lost. When I snap my fingers--"

"No! I hate you! Let me go! I've already killed her, you'll be too late!" The cries grew more and more frantic, and the fire-eater's words dissolved into a senseless shriek of outrage, eyes rolling back to show their whites.

D lifted his hand in front of the hysteric man's face and snapped his fingers. The man calmed down at once, slumping forward against the dhampir's body. Holding the young man to him, D turned and laid him on a soft, unscorched patch of grass. Mouka soundly asleep. D knelt nearby, looking for all the world a patch of shadow as he bent his head.

"And now on the count of three, you will wake up and feel refreshed and new. One... two..." On three, Mouka's eyes opened, but when he looked up, D was already walking away from him into the inner sanctum of the fort.

When Mouka finally caught up with him, staggering along behind senselessly in the dark with just a tiny flame to guide him, he nearly ran into D, who was standing just beyond the circle of moonlight.

The sad scene before them seemed to require the privacy D had given, by standing just out of sight. _Is it out of worry?_ Mouka wondered, still vaguely bewildered as to what had happened.

"M... _Mother_..."

Miranda shook her head furiously, brushing back her hair. She'd dropped her sword to the ground, she didn't care to think of where or when she'd pick it up again. Still shaking with an abundance of adrenaline, the woman held her only child to her breast as if she could give him life-giving sustenance just by being close to him. "Don't talk too much," she whispered franticly, stroking his face again and again as if to commit it to her skin's memory. "Chase, mama's here, okay, mama's going to take care of you, it's okay..."

Chase's expression grew softer. The anger and rage of the vampire was as gone as a nightmare. "I've been looking for you. Now... here you are."

"You have?" Miranda's disbelief and surprise shattered her self-restraint, and she uttered a hopeless, desperate cry. "Chase... I'm so... so proud of you... you came all this way... why?"

"No matter... what..." Chase struggled, raising his arms to wrap them around her quaking shoulders. "...you're still... mommy... right? No. Don't cry... Mom..."

Miranda wiped at her eyes, took his hands, held them to her face as she felt the warmth seep out of them. A pool of red was slowly crawling across the floor in the macabre shape of a heart. She could feel his blood soaking through her pant leg, but that fact seemed insubstantial and so very far away. "I love you, Chase. I never stopped thinking about you... I'm sorry... I failed you..."

"It's okay..." Chase's mouth quirked slightly into a smile. His voice had grown faint, and she was pained yet glad to hear it. It was his voice, a voice she had obsessively wondered about - what would it sound like when he was a grown man? It didn't matter that it was the voice of a dying man. It was still his, and she drank up his words, although she had told him not to speak.

He had said it was okay, and there seemed a sublime forgiveness in it. Miranda held him tightly, knowing that he'd stopped breathing and she was waiting for him to speak more, say something more. His arms hung limply, his fingers dangling in his blood. She stubbornly clung to that hope until she heard a footstep from the darkness.

D watched the unspeakable poignancy dissolve into despair. Before it could consume her, he moved from the shadows at last, clearly intending on being there, at least to have his presence connect her back to reality.

Mouka took a cue from the hunter and chose not to speak. Instead, he crouched down on the ground with his arms around his legs and felt a tear stream down his dusty, scarred face.

Miranda kissed her son's forehead once, both of his cheeks, her fingers combing back his hair as if it might make amends with what horrors had been done. Then she laid him down, picked up the torque in her numb fingers and shakily rose to her feet. Her hair, blacker with sweat and tears, clung to her pale cheeks. She turned this mournful face to D, and looked at some point on his chest.

"Help me bury him?"

D nodded. Mouka saw his face in a glimpse of startling moonlight as he turned to follow Miranda, and was startled to see a portrait of anguish rather than the steeled, unfeeling mask of business. This place felt cursed, and Mouka shivered as he stood and hurriedly left the half-ruined tomb.

* * *

_'Here Lies Chase Delaclair, Devoted Son & Strong warrior.'_

Miranda stood underneath the tree where D and Mouka had helped to form the grave. Upon a stone from the fort, D had carved out the words, drew a strange symbol like an X or a T on it, but Miranda didn't ask what it meant and he didn't tell her. It wasn't important. She knelt in the grass in front of it. She didn't know any good prayers for him except the song-prayer she used to sing to him when he was a child. It had been long gone from her mind for years, but it came back to her now, and she sang it then, letting whatever lyrics wash up on the neglected shores of her memory.

The horses were tethered within sight some distance away, obliviously munching on fresh patches of grass. D stood in the shade, a monolith of grieving. Mouka was perched on the roots of a tree nearby, still sobered by the event. In the dawning light, she stood up again and walked to her horse. D followed, stopping her with a gentle press of his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," D told her quietly. "If... I... I had been quicker..."

"It doesn't matter," Miranda told him brokenly, almost angrily brushing his hand away. She mounted her horse gracefully, brushing back her long dark hair from her eyes. "He would have died anyway. Nobody lives like that for long."

D looked away, saying nothing. But he said nothing as he settled himself into the saddle. Mouka looked from one person to the other as he hobbled over, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"You can ride with me," the woman said. Mouka climbed into the saddle behind her, and the trio rode off through the rising sunlight. The faeries seemed watchful, and as the guests of the forest left in silence, strange, soft lights carried a wreath woven from the white flowers in the treetops. The brought it to the grave, and laid it on the mound before fleeing back to the shelter of their leaves.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author...

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

_And remember to be kind  
When the pain of another will serve you to remind  
That there are those who feel themselves exiled  
On whom the fortune never smiled  
And upon whose life the heartache has been piled  
They're just looking for another  
Lonely child _

And when you've found another soul  
Who sees into your own  
Take good care of each other.

-Jackson Browne, "The Only Child"

* * *

D took the money in the pouch without a word, his sharp-nailed fingers closing around the reinforced leather purse without argument. Surely not as high as he'd hoped, for there had been unexpected costs in their adventure. But the costs were not so high as the loss that one of their precious number had suffered.

Venson and the sheriff both had listened to the story D related while Miranda sat in silence, her eyes distant and lost in a place where she could not be reached, even by Mouka, who tried to lure her out of her despondency with a fiery-winged butterfly. After the full account had been recorded on vellum paper, they generously offered Miranda a place to stay free of charge for as long as she needed to and whatever medicine or help she required. As for D, they offered him to stay as well, though they obviously did not enjoy feeling obligated toward him for eliminating what had almost been an undefeatable marauder. D carefully hid the torque in a metal box, sliding a wooden cross locked inside with it to weaken the jewel's influence.

D took his meal alone in the spare room beside Miranda's. The window to her originally room had been fixed, so she took that one again while he supped in the one beside it. He could hear her moving about, unpacking things, repacking things. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see her moving about as mechanically as possible, not caring for what she looked like or how she moved. While he thoughtfully, stubbornly gulped down his blood made from a pill dropped in water, he stood at the window and gazed longingly into the moonlight. He had not the heart nor the words to talk to her. But ever present was the fear that her grief would overcome her, if he did not do something.

Draining the last of his glass, he put it down and cleaned his lips of any trace of the artificial blood with one quick sweep of his tongue.

"Are you going to talk to her?" the parasite asked, not unkindly. "I'm kind of worried myself, y'know, and you should know that ain't like me."

"I don't know what to tell her."

"Just being there is probably best. I bet you she could use a little company."

D agreed in grudging silence. Hateful to admit it, but the parasite had was a lodestone of wisdom when asked under the right circumstances. Or it could be a general pain in the ass.

He stepped up to her door in the corridor, raising his hand to knock before it opened unexpectedly, unveiling Miranda herself in a pair of denim and a black, long-sleeve shirt. Her feet were socked, but she looked strangely ordinary without her huntress garments. "Can I help you, D?" she asked, startled a little.

The Vampire Hunter shifted his weight to the other foot slightly, breaking the usually strong, stalwart stance. A palpable discomfort seemed to hover around him, before he decided to speak. "I... wondered," he began, "if you'd like company."

"Company," she repeated softly, looking him quietly in the face. "Sure. Just take off your hat."

"What? Why?"

"Because your hair is beautiful, you're inside, and it doesn't make sense that you wear it all the time. That's why," Miranda replied stiffly, turning to head back inside. She stopped by the dresser, arranging some plastic bottles, speaking, "Would you say no to a woman?"

"No," D said, reaching to sweep off his hat before he entered, "I wouldn't."

After hanging his hat by the door, he observed her. The quiet woman seemed to compulsively arrange her bottles by color, then by size, then by label. Finally he drew closer. Noticing her shoulders stiffen, he ceased his advance mid-step. With an abrupt sigh, the huntress turned to step into his dark presence. Tears stood frozen in her eyes that may have been there all along for all he knew, but finally she pushed herself beyond her usual limits, and into his arms. She had never let him hold her until now, and his receptiveness was amplified by his deep and empathetic grieving.

His armor shined with wetness when she raised her eyes. "I tried. I tried so fucking hard. I can't... just ignore it when it hurts so much."

"It's supposed to. The pain... it's normal." His voice softened, and the honesty seemed to originate from somewhere deep that he never had the time to acknowledge. "No one blames you."

"I do," she replied, clenching her hands at her sides even as she leaned against his body. "Just... hold me. I don't care, I--just--" Fresh tears starting anew, she cried again, her strong, stubborn heart still slowly, painfully breaking. She was a strong woman. It would take awhile for the pain to pass over, for the grieving to be done, though she hated every moment of weakness that she revealed to him. He had told her to be strong, but why wasn't he telling her to be strong now?

She felt a minute or two pass, well aware that his arms had once again encircled her, her heartbeat rattling out a dirge to her rampant tears, but not responding to them well enough, she decided to slide her arms around his waist. She wasn't as tall as he was, but she was close. Satisfying comfort suffused her with a weary ease of spirit. Her head could fit just so underneath his chin, her nose inches from the strange blue jewel around his neck. The hardness of his body didn't terrify her in the least, and the heat he gave off additionally dispelled a majority of her chaotic state of mind.

The thought of him leaving her alone, however, made her blood freeze. "D."

"Hm." His body thrummed, like a giant cat purring.

"Are you... ah, that is to say... you aren't going to leave this room."

"I won't?"

"No." Miranda looked up, saw that he was smiling, and felt like pinching his arm. "You won't mind much if I ask you to stay here... so I won't start, y'know... going crazy?"

"I highly doubt you'll go crazy. But I don't mind if you ask. I don't mind staying, either."

Miranda's eyes lit up slightly, and she felt herself weaken at his words. She looked tired, and D wholeheartedly wished a good night's sleep for her.

He took her by the arm and encouraged her to go lay down at least. She assured him in a quiet voice that she had taken her medicine, even as he was about to open his mouth to ask her. He tucked her in, despite her feeble protests, which seemed to take her mind from her grieving for a few minutes. Having some combative element to their relationship besides their unfriendly reunion, Miranda gradually relaxed and watched him turn to turn off the light.

Disappointingly, he stepped away from the bed to sit in the chair beside it Miranda's will flared again, and she reached out to grab hold of his left wrist. "No!"

Wordlessly, the Hunter froze. As if sensing his immediate anxiety, she let go and watched him turn to face her again, the moonlight cascading in through the window, making his hair glow amber fire. His eyes, glowing forget-me-nots, peered thoughtfully into her own. He knew what she wanted, even if it was just simple warmth and companionship, maybe more. She felt ashamed all the same, her cheeks flushing bright.

Again, without words, he pulled his wrist loose gently. Before she could raise another protest, he unhooked his coat in three places and draped it across the chair he had been meaning to sit in. His shadow descended on her blankets, glided by as he circled around the bed and slid onto the uninhabited side, and closer, drawn by her warmth. She turned to face him, at once soothed and mollified by his brazen closeness, before exhaustion set in once again. He was there, really _there_ - though she was terrified that he would sense that her legs were heavy and made of metal - so at least she was not completely alone...

All she could think of to do was sleep. His arm tucked around her waist, his nose drawn to the sweet, flowered scent of her hair. He breathed deeply, exhaled; she shivered against him once before she stilled, her own breathing level and deepening by the second. His chest ached for awhile, his mind supplying nothing but the words, _At last..._

* * *

For once, the morning dawned without the crushing presence of a deadline hovering over his head, like an ax waiting to fall over the chopping block. The solid presence of Miranda beside him, asleep, proved that the waking world was not necessarily so horrid a place. The sunlight was particularly beautiful casting dappled light patterns through the curtains onto the floor. Miranda's hair had spread across the pillow in dark waves, hanging finally over the edge of the bed, as her chest rose and fell in a deep, steady pattern.

Without so much as disturbing an inch of the bed, he rose. He needed only a small amount of sleep, and if he truly needed it, a few hours of rest beneath the earth to regain his strength. But it had hardly been that long to require that sort of treatment. He crossed the bedroom and stood before the window, trying not to feel the sun suck away his energy like it normally did. But he just wanted to feel what it was like, just for a few moments, just once - to _bathe_ in it...

Not many dhampirs could stand the sunlight without becoming wretchedly ill. D could put up with it. As if taking unnatural pleasure in the discomfort, he stayed until he began to get a slight headache before retreating into the shadows again.

Then came the intruding thought, the inevitable next pondering: Where would they go? _And would Miranda go with me?_

In the darkness, a quiet voice rose to speak to him. "Finally a little action... though not as much as I hoped."

"Shut up," D murmured, quickly but silently removing himself from the room and into the hallway, where it was darker still but at least he could speak with the parasite in peace, without fear of waking Miranda.

"Aw, come _on_! You don't mean to tell me you had a gorgeous woman against your body all night and didn't get turned on? I mean, aside from the fact--"

"She asked for comfort. I gave it to her. That's all."

"Such a gentleman," the voice muttered again. "So maybe when she takes off her belt, there's not a chance you won't let your imagination take things further, eh?"

"You have enough imagination for both of us, thank you." D raked his hands through his hair thoughtfully in an out-of-character display of dogged annoyance. "And for your personal input, I'd make it a point to draw my attention somewhere else. Go away. The household is waking up. There'll be no doubt that the mayor will kick us out as soon as he can get his boots on."

"You left your hat in the bedroom!"

"I know." D went back inside, and saw very little had changed except that the huntress had turned over and was breathing evenly, her hair an undulating ocean of blackness against the floral sheets.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" the parasite crooned. "Now stop ogling her and get back out into the hall."

Without a sound, D exited the room a second time and left the door opened enough so that if Miranda had to wake up, she'd be able to hear the voices talking in the corridor. The Mayor approached him alone, but he didn't seem put ill at ease by his presence at all. In fact, the man happened to be smiling at him.

"Mouka has convinced us all that there should be yet another smaller festival in your honor. It will be held partially during the day and the night in the community hall, and outside in the square. You and Miss Miranda should attend!" Stopping in front of the Vampire Hunter, he kept up his smile bravely while D was struck silent by... surprise.

Suspicion had its place, too, nestled stubbornly in his wary heart. But he did not decline. Instead, he bowed his head, hiding his eyes from the mayor's vision. "I might put in an appearance. But I can't speak for Miranda."

"Is she-?"

"She's still sleeping. Give her some time. I believe she may need a few hours of peace and quiet before she can commit to anything that's too strenuous."

"I understand. She'll have breakfast waiting for her, of course. Or, if you'd like, we can bring it up instead." Venson shifted from foot to foot, finally faced with the question of a dhampir's needs. "Do you need anything? Some hash browns, coffee...?"

"Just a coffee. Thank you." He watched Venson amble away.

Returning to Miranda's quiet sanctuary, he watched her sleep for awhile longer until one of the house maids arrived with a cup of coffee and a large tray, delivering a breakfast of hash browns, long strips of bacon and a gigantic fried egg. D instructed her quietly to leave it just by the bed on the dresser. He had long dreamt of waking up someone with breakfast and coffee... and whatever else his tentative love required.

He sat carefully on her side of the bed. With his right hand, he reached to brush stray strands of dark hair from her face, his fingertips reveling in the soft warmth of her skin, the way her jaw worked as he brushed his thumb over her soft mouth.

"Miranda..."

A small stirring. Her eyebrows bobbed slightly, as the rest of her body began to move, settling again. "Uh... Mmm.."

"Miranda."

"Nnh...whu-at?"

"Breakfast." His fingertips toyed with the ends of her hair on her shoulder, and his voice took on a warm, patronizing tone. "When was the last time you had ever eaten?"

The shackles of sleep were quick to fall away from her. Without missing a beat, she answered tiredly, "If I wanted an old man to wake me up in the morning..."

The Vampire Hunter beamed. And that was rarer than most anything. He was not himself radiant, but a glowing temptation from the darkness. He put the tray beside her. Was it any wonder that she went for the bacon first, her fingers nimbly picking up the first piece and devouring it in a matter of seconds. D patiently sat by, neither staring nor entirely looking away, but gazing serenely out the window, before speaking.

"They're holding a small festival for us in our honor. I suppose they felt bad for our having missing the first."

"The town?"

"That's what the mayor said."

Miranda blinked the sleep from her eyes one last time before she straightened, dumbstruck when she realized her hair was a horrible tangle. She gave D a vague expression of reluctance, before shrugging. "After breakfast, you'll have to give me awhile to actually wake up."

"I understand."

But he didn't have to leave right then, and he was glad when she took her time eating.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This was dragging on, and it ended so abruptly... sorry! 


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday. And I don't own any of the lyrics or lines I happen to randomly post, but I will post the band and song name, book and author...

Read. Be brutal, be kind, be whatever you wish.

* * *

Miranda took her medication without argument. She sighed as D worried over her in his own brooding and quiescent way, until finally she had no choice but to raise her voice at him. He left immediately, with a non-argumentative "If you wish it" at her strong expression to be left the hell alone, and that had its own effect on her emotional state. She didn't want to be left alone all day, which is what she felt he was going to do now that she'd unleashed her temper just once.

She was _so_ not a morning person.

And the prospect of some kind of party: she wasn't certain of her feelings toward it. Whenever she had a moment to actually think about the past few days, she started to feel as if her eyes would melt from the built up saline. To completely top off her turbulent state of mind, there was at last the fact that somewhere she kept hearing people say her name. It was a silent, quiet murmur, the exact number of syllables, the tone of the voice. As if it was speaking to her, and only her.

Eventually she left the house with her belongings prepared and packed, ready to leave. The course brown of her bag caught her attention for a moment, and for a moment it only served to remind her how long she'd been following the demon that had done her such a disfavor. (That smarted of understatement, but she was so tired of thinking about it in terms of hatred.)

The bag was worn with holes, repairs, and had numerous patches of cloth sewn on from a dozen different towns. She carried anything in this thing: food, medicines, tools. It had seen her through time-spattered battles, desert, and the rain of the storm that was still raging outside of the valley's mountainous walls. What sort of stories would it tell her ten more years from now? What would it have to say when her body expired, and her soul was released into that blur of the unknown, where spirits of the dead could rest?

_Nothing_, said the voice that had been calling. _Because your life is nothing but meaningless. A flickering gas light in the ebb and flow of time. You could have had so much more. Maybe it's not too late._

"Be quiet," Miranda bit out through clenched teeth. She shouldered the old brown bag, then decided to set it down again. She didn't remember why she was picking it up anyway.

_Oh, yeah._

D was outside in the shade of the large stone-and-oak townhouse where the late celebration was going to take place. There were streamers left over, apparently from the last celebration that they'd missed. It felt like years ago. He was almost invisible against the dark, well-worn wood that looked centuries old. The hefty pouch of money at his belt was proof enough that he'd already taken care of that part of his business. Seeing him again made her cheeks cold with guilt and elation. She did not, however, have it in her heart to hug him in apology. Instead, she approached and bowed her head, eyes quivering.

She whispered, "I'm sorry."

"It's perfectly okay."

"Will you... still be going?"

"To the little festival?"

"Sure." Miranda lifted her eyes, shrugging a little. "I haven't seen Mouka use fire without the intention to hurt somebody with it."

"Then we'll go together. How's that?" D looked up from under the brim of his hat. In the hazy sunlight, his eyes once again were a shocking blue. They captivated her. She saw swirling in their cool depths the sort of passionate fervor that made him stay with her last night.

"I'm glad." With a half-smile on her lips, she stepped closer to him, reaching to poke at his belly, which elicited a tiny twitch response. "And one more thing?"

Pure bewilderment flickered through his cold eyes. "Yes?"

"One dance!" Miranda spun away on her heel and walked off around the corner of the large townhouse that was wavering in the heat of the day.

The huntress looked over her shoulder. "You owe me one dance, Hunter. I want to see you move and let loose. If you can do _that_... then maybe I can get over everything that's happened."

"Will that really help you?" D did not sound largely convinced.

"Perhaps. No. Definitely." She brushed her hands over her hair and offered at once just a tiny, small smile, just for herself and no one else, because her back was facing him. He could feel her eyes traveling the width of her shoulders, as if willing her to turn around.

It was a good day, even if the storm pushed forward past the mountains and made it drizzle half-heartedly as she rode through the fields again. The words of the vampire phantom, the one who called himself a Delaclair, rang like a clarion in her mind, demanding her attention and detective scrutiny. She had no idea her family's history went back so far; so... darkly. Then again, nobody talked about the ugly secrets of anyone's family, especially when it concerned the Nobles. She couldn't help feeling even more cut off from her own reality, the one she had believed in for so long.

She walked as if in a dream. Her vision blurred constantly, but she felt physically fine. _Is it the medicine? A reaction?_

The facts remained, she insisted to herself, trying to stave off whatever dizziness was still trying to overcome her. Her family was dead, and the ones who were still alive would never accept her again as far as she could piece it together.

She rode her own horse past the huge gap in the field of corn that D had cut when he went looking for her; it looked like a child who lost most of its teeth. The soft song in her mind was like a hymn, distant and far away. She wished she could find the church it was coming from. The song was so quiet, in a language she couldn't pick apart. She had known two languages other than her own in her life, and had used them both at least once in her journeys... but this one seemed made of all of them at once.

_What was it?_

Troubled, she turned about face and returned to Coel Town.

* * *

The day spun itself out, as the birds called their last good-byes and flew in to settle for the evening. D had no idea where Miranda had gone, but that strangely didn't bother him. She wanted to be alone right now; it was her prerogative. Perhaps being around him reminded her a little too much of her tragedy. So he stayed away, distanced and alone and finding himself happily back within his comfort zone. It was a shameful relief.

He thought it would be safer to leave her be anyway rather than stalk her and treat her like a broken porcelain doll. She was anything but, besides.

He was reading beneath the shade of a tree reading one of the books from Venson's library, only to find himself interrupted.

"Hey."

The fire magician gave a grin, albeit a shy one, with the small white scars around his mouth wrinkling a bit. D's eyes lifted. His hat was set beside him in the grass, which allowed for his dark hair to spill freely over his shoulders and slightly over his eyes. Mouka was slightly taken aback by the beauty of such a face, peering with clear and unremorseful impatience behind a veil of hair as dark as midnight but clearly brown. A face that was strong, slightly angular but never feminine. It was the perfect visage. It had its imperfections, but they seemed so well blended, Mouka couldn't find any of them.

He cleared his throat at Mouka, and the younger man decided he ought to speak or leave.

"Have you seen Miranda?" he managed, his voice crackling.

"Not since this morning." It was none of his business why Mouka would be searching for her. But he was still damn curious about it.

That curiosity peaked when Mouka blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his arms. "Alright. Thanks."

"Wait."

"Huh?" Mouka had just turned to walk away, but froze as if caught by a web. "What?"

"Good luck tonight, if you are performing."

"Oh, I am." Mouka grinned broadly again, quickly taking up the ease with which his own subject came up. He relaxed, leaning against the tree next to the quiet hunter. "Trained up a couple of young ladies to perform with me. They're quick. I just hope it doesn't rain like it did tonight."

"Doesn't smell like it will."

"Yeah, you're right!" Mouka deep breath and sighed, sliding down onto the ground. "Smells like providence, Hunter. Gonna take Miranda on a date, aren't you?" He said this with what he hoped was a convincing between-boys tone of a voice.

"I suppose so."

Mouka couldn't say anything to that. He nodded, before he flipped up onto his feet, rolled into a back flip and bounced back a step upon landing on his light feet. "Take her to watch my show. Everyone'll be there. Can't miss it, Hunter!" And then he was gone.

* * *

It was dark in the valley long before the sun had truly set. Near the storm-choked mountaintops, the azure sky had taken on a yellow, misty hue before that too darkened to a deep black. It was still light outside when Miranda found D under the same tree, his hat on his head and covering his eyes. She smiled, clicked her tongue before she crouched down by his feet, and shook his boot gently.

"D."

"I know. I'm awake."

"Did you stay out here all day?"

"I was tired."

"I thought you said you were awake." Miranda made a playfully disgusted sound before rising. When D looked up again, he was struck with dumb silence.

Miranda was dressed in a flowing, forest green off-the-shoulder dress, her dark hair plaited and then twined into a bun, her bangs framing her pale, clear face. Her eyes shone like emeralds, and she held her hands on her hips, a set of thick shell bangles on her wrists. The longer he looked upon her, the more her cheeks suffused with an embarrassed blush.

"You going to get up or enjoy the view?" She offered her hand.

He took it, standing. His other hand dusted off his pants, drawing Miranda's gaze to his belt. "You're not going to wear that, are you?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"N-Nothing!" She smiled, and, tightening her grip on his hand (with her cybernetic one, fully in command of its tenacious hold), she turned and started walking quickly back into town. He saw the pale white flash of her bare feet, with similar bangles on her ankles. The jangling notes filled the air before they were soon drowned out by the noises of revelry as they penetrated the crowd around the building. They were glad to have their demon and the vampire spirit taken care of, and celebrated once again for their heroes.

There was a live band playing. They were revelers, drumming their fingers in a wild rhythm, and in the center of the crowd outside of the building, there was Mouka. He ran to meet them, wearing very little in the way of clothing, his skin glistening with some kind of oil.

"Hey, you guys. It's not starting yet but you can dance together if you want. They're playing inside, waiting for you, since you're the guests of honor an' all!"

Miranda blinked, watched as the fire dancer danced his way back into the middle of the circle. She went to pull D with her, but felt herself struggling to pull a stalwart rock. She turned to give him a scathing glare. "What's wrong?"

"I can't..."

"Don't be stupid, D." She pulled again. "You won't try to say no, will you? Because--"

D smiled, and Miranda, surprised, laughed. And they went in together.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday.

Author's Note: Be brutal; be kind; be whatever you wish. Read and review, or just read.

* * *

**Fire And Ice **

Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favour fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice.

Robert Frost

Inside, it was hot and stuffy and smelled like gun smoke and fire, even though the only light was long electric bulbs hooked into the walls fixed to solar panels on the roof. These were dimmed, so that the bodies within looked like half-formed rocks in faded tones of grey, brown and white. However, splashes of color appeared; young women in dresses nearly as fine as Miranda's, holding hands of gentlemen or searching. The music was loud, drumming in their skulls as the stooped ceiling was swallowed by darkness. Lights that had most certainly not been packed away were still strung up, and were littered over the doors and large, broad poled that supported the crossbeams above.

Most of the wood was old, but it was made of tougher stuff than most hard woods. It had probably withstood a century of use, with only minimal repairs. D's boots made thuds like a chopping block on the floor before he remembered to try to be quiet.

Eyes crawled all over them for several minutes. But Miranda, heedless, dragged her prey into the ocean of bodies and Miranda showed him how to set himself free.

He knew dancing well. He had taken lessons with dryads, much as they wanted to eat his flesh and let his locks of hair drift away in the wind, and learned the music of a hundred peoples in his travels. But these were things he kept to himself, because they were a luxury neglected and ignored, a warm memory that sat like a tired, aged cat in his heart.

But the dancing here was new, and full of heat, sweat and a blur of scents and sensations, a cornucopia of stimuli. Her bosom pressed against his chest before the heat disappeared, leaving him cold before her return, her mouth by his ear, then his throat. There was laughter in her eyes but her mouth did not move at all.

It was an old, exhausting dance, but she kept up and put him in his paces, stopping only when it seemed hours had gone by. Sweat made her hair stand out ink black against her flushed cheeks, but he was as cool and dry as usual. They wandered outside, pulled by the cheers and gasps of the crowd. It might have been because of Mouka, whose show could only have improved through repetition.

They sat on the hard ground, where no stacks of hay would be used because of the fire that might catch them. A stag of flames trotted around the bonfire there in a stately canter, tossing its blazing antlers haughtily at the crowd. Mouka let his chest be bare, covered in sweat and tiny scars from his work. The joy in his eyes was palpable in his art.

Miranda sat on the ground with D. She nestled between slightly outstretched legs and sheltered there, nestled with her cheek leaning against his bicep, because his arms had slid quite without his permission around her body.

The show was grand, and when the other gypsy performances came on, D shifted the sleeping woman in his arms. With a tender, frightening fondness, he picked her up and carried her back to her quarters at the mayor's home, disappearing into shadows without anyone's notice.

His boots crunched the sun-dried mud on the streets, but it wasn't enough sound to wake her. Her long braid swung delicately with each step, her arms clasped loosely around his neck like a child. The entire evening had gone in a blur, leaving a warm spot in his belly, like a dragon curled itself up to sleep in the sun.

He ascended the stairs silently, and manipulated the door open without a sound, the long shadows of night no longer hinting at some plotted evil; he tucked her into bed, and once he turned to go away, he felt her hand, hard around his wrist.

"D."

"Please."

"Why not?"

"I thought you were asleep."

"I know it's not because you think I'm ugly."

"I'm a dhampir. Virgin though you aren't, I--" _Excuses_, he thought. He closed his eyes, and turned his hand so as to take hers in his. "I'm not safe to keep in your bed, Miranda."

"Is that all?" Dubious, Miranda sat up and pulled on his hand. "I need you, D. That should be all the reason you require. I need you."

Resistance had occurred to him before. It was not a proper reaction to the situation now. But, as unsavory as it sounded, an idea came to mind and he felt dizzy for seriously considering it.

It was different to be kissing her sitting down. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, unleashing tiny fireflies of ungodly temptation. Sharp-nailed fingers in leather caressed her hair; her silken mouth tasted clean, faintly coppery.

She teased, clearly not knowing what she did to him. She needn't take off her clothes at all to do it. Abruptly, he felt teeth on his lower lip, and the only right response he had was a deep growl, too late to choke it down or resist it. She must have liked the sound. Her body went rigid, but she wasn't afraid, not at all. She would not have laved her velvet tongue against the same spot if she was. With that consolation, she slipped her left hand over his mouth and looked into his eyes. They were almost red. They were intensely violet, a mixture of the normal blue of his eyes and the crimson of bloodlust.

He breathed quite unevenly through his nose. Miranda kissed his nose gently. His eyelids fluttered in surprise.

She slid her palms down his chest, and nimbly began to unfasten a buckle. Her sensitive fingertips noted and caressed the multitude of chips and scratches in its old surface. A second pair of hands interrupted her work. She choked back a protest when she saw that he was working on the second buckle. She busied herself with the third, feeling her own heart race against her efforts to stay serene.

"Have you done this before?"

"No."

Miranda flushed, keeping her eyes on the blue crystal he wore around his neck as she replied, "Oh... I see. But I understand you are not totally ignorant--"

"I am knowledgeable."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes."

The honesty hitched her progress. She slowed her hands and rested them against his chest. "Then we needn't have to. I'm not going to pressure anything here, D... I just want you to be with me. I don't want either of us to have to be alone because it's what we're used to. Uh-uh. That's not a good excuse anymore to be the way we used to be."

"I understand." D's reply came easily. He did understand, but... what rules she laid out for her own future did not apply to his. Her future ended upon her death as a mortal and his... simply continued, unchanging, set in stone that would wear away slowly until it was forgot.

However, the burning of her lips pulled him from the untold future, soldering him to the present.

And the last thought that needled its way into his thoughts, as she pulled him was, _There is no room in the present for the future anyway..._

* * *

Mouka barely fell into bed when it seemed like minutes later, he was woken up again. This time it was the smell of smoke, which usually lulled him to a deeper sleep. But this smelled no fire he had started, nor any fire that burned happily and well fed in a clean hearth.

The night before had been exhilarating. Despite the biting disappointment of seeing the hunter and huntress together, it gave him a sense of peaceful, of fulfillment. _At least_, he thought, _she's on her way to happiness. Can't go wrong with that. I'm all about happiness. Right?_

He sluggishly turned himself over like a whale beached on a sand bar; his hands felt like leaden weights when he tried to use them to rub his eyes with his wrists (really, the cleanest parts of his hands). But the smell of smoke wouldn't leave him. Normally he was used to it; he always smelled like something burning. However...

He sat up, nestled in clean sheets of the hotel. He fumbled to stand up, landing heavily on his bad leg before he bumped into the wall beside the window. With soot-covered hands, he tore open the curtains and nearly fell backwards onto his behind as if physically blown away.

There on the hill above the town, in the predawn light, the mayor's house was engulfed by flames.

* * *

He was pelting down the main road, preceded by a dozen or so firemen, all of them pumping water from rusted, electric sedans toward the flames. Mouka alone rushed head-on toward the burning building, screeching to a stop while the enraged blaze reached to touch his skin and take him into its super-heated womb.

He whispered quickly, his lips moving, whatever forbidden words he uttered swallowed by the roar of the blaze. Gradually, however, his magic seemed to work; the flames swayed with uncertainty, then regarded the traveler with almost disquiet, ember-shaped eyes. Then the flames parted like a biblical miracle. Without another whisper, he stepped between the two columns of fire and beyond into the corridors. They closed behind him slowly.

The building's integrity wasn't compromised. It's construction was powerful and had likely withstood much abuse through decades. At the moment, the flames hadn't reached the attic. Once the attic was devoured, then the building was truly done for, and this fire would not stop until it closed its greedy maw over every block and every wooden board.

The only question was, how did this fire even start? An accident? Too quick to be an accident. He ducked his head down to avoid the smoke, whispering flames aside as he moved. It was a challenge talking the flames out of his way. They were belligerent, hungry and too busy to pay him any mind.

Coughing, Mouka raised his head, shouting over the voice of fire. "D! Vampire Hunter D!"

He waited, crouching down on the floor that was slowly becoming a little too hot. He whispered franticly at the flames, though no such language would now deter them from their feeding.

Finally he heard a sound. It was wood cracking, something heavy falling. It was one of the painting decorations up the corridor. The door to one of the rooms flew open and he saw a black phantom emerge, untouched by the flame as if his otherworldly beauty held the fire in awe.

Then a second figure appeared, lunging from behind Mouka, utterly ignoring him. He didn't see the figure's face, but the sword in its hand flew nearly as fast as lightning striking the top of a tree. His eyes watered from the smoke, but the blurry, smoky figure of D met the other's sword undaunted.

"D!"

He didn't hear him. The duel went on in spite of the flames that encircled them tightly, cloaking them in untouchable fire. Mouka stumbled back, retreating from the fight before the flames that he held so dear could consume him.

* * *

All he could breathe was fire. His vision blurred, but wherever he looked, his adversary was before him. He bit down on his reluctance, matching each blow without delivering any of his own. He couldn't speak, because no one would have heard his voice over the Hell that was spawning around them. He retreated, backing up again and again until his back was to the flames. And even then he stepped back, scorched and burned but not injured in the least.

No. No, the real pain here came from within. He felt his heart torn out and stamped upon. But who really knew what he felt in that breast of his, where nothing warm or light ever penetrated the steely darkness of his being?

The demoness attacking him screamed again, teeth pointed and black eyes red with such bloodrage that he suddenly found himself shuddering from the following impact. His boots left skid marks in the scorched wood. The second blow and he forced himself back outside through a broken bay window, landing amidst smoke and dirt.

The enemy, nonplussed, leapt after him, spiraling in mid-flight and landing just short of sword reach.

D stood up slowly, extending the sword out in front of him in silent resignation. The she-demon straightened as well, a course wind from the wild storm beyond the mountains pulling black hair from her reddened eyes.

From around her throat, a single gem sparkled, fitted into a sinister, metallic torque.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday.

**Author's Note**: Be brutal; be kind; be whatever you wish. Read and review, or just read.

-----

The pair squared off. In the eerie light of the dimming fire, Mouka crouched behind a water sedan with soot smeared into his face, while an expression of shock registered immediately on his face. He knew that woman. But it just couldn't be...

The man in black with a sword bared seemed to emanate a most icy, unfeeling aura that consumed the courage and will of everyone who bore witness to the sudden change between the Hunter and the woman. The firemen, the women and children who were pitching in, all froze like deer in the headlights, stripped clean of their right minds. Though they did not know it, what they were staring at was not a sword fight; it was a battle of the heart as well as the mind.

The aura that billowed over the burning house, extinguishing the fire, and freezing the villagers in their places, extended to envelope Miranda as well. What the man in black intended to do, no one knew. But his power was expansive. Its focus was the sole woman standing before him. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lips pulled back in a seductive, syrupy grimace of lust and anger. Yet she failed to realize that her own body was being frozen in place... until she felt the constriction of his darkness around her.

Then it was over. Underestimating his strength, the Noble would have cursed aloud, but her mouth would not move. Yet still her limbs quivered, fighting it with every ounce of psychic strength...

_You're powerful_, a male voice whispered into D's mind, never breaking his concentration. _You are very powerful, friend. But you crashed, Hunter, into the greatest pitfall of the Nobility. You fell in love with her; you even submitted to her wiles. You are just like any other common vampire..._

D's eyes, black as coals, never lifted from the woman's face. He didn't respond. His expression remained as empty and featureless as the Frontier deserts during midnight. Gales from the fire lifted his cloak like wings. He did, however, take one step forward. Then another. He raised his sword.

_What will you do? Kill her? That's the only way, isn't it?_ A hint of a smile formed on Miranda's mouth, cruel and sudden. D's concentration was immense, but how powerful was this being to actually break it? _Can you, D? Can you kill your beloved?_

Suddenly D stopped. He was easily within striking range. His uncanny power over the crowd wavered, and someone coughed from the smoke.

Miranda sprang free of his grasp. The Noble's eyes, gem-like, closed and huge, black wings formed from the black riding cloak she had thrown around her shoulders mere hours before to ward away the chill. At the precise moment of the leap, D's powerful legs propelled him after her into the sky. A flash of white light pierced the shadows cast by the flames, but there was no ringing of steel nor sparks flying.

There was no sign of the pair, nor any indication that they had fallen to the ground together. They had completely vanished, like the nightmarish sparks of fire fading into the night silver predawn sky.

-----

Mouka exhaustedly collapsed on the dirt beside the stall where D and Miranda's horses had been stabled. The shifting hooves by his head at his presence didn't even disturb his sudden sleep. It had taken every bit of his coercive power to convince the fires to die down and be still and let the balance of elements take its toll. Along with the water pumped five miles from the reservoirs that collected at the bottom of the mountains, the villagers had used water from their own wells to keep from overworking the pumping station on the edge of town. Men and women had continuously dragged the sedans back to the pumping station to fill their fire trucks back up with water and return again. It was tireless, thankless work; the flames seemed to reject every effort to kill it off.

It was late afternoon. The search party to go out and find the rogue vampires (as they were now known) had come back unsuccessfully. Even the ruins and the underground catacombs were swept multiple times to no avail. It was as if the pair had completely disappeared off the face of the earth. It was debatable whether their horses should be sold or put to work in the fields, or killed for meat.

As every hour passed, Mouka became more and more distraught. People just didn't disappear. On the Frontier, there was always a reason for random disappearances. Either due to lethal, flying jelly fish or some other monstrous anamoly that the Frontiersmen and women dealt with on a lively basis.

"Where have they gone?" Mouka sighed, rubbing a scar under his lower lip. "D... where did you take her? Or maybe it was something else altogether..."

Unable to form another coherent thought, the firemancer dropped off to sleep right there to the sounds of horses.

When he woke up again, he ate quietly at the local bar. The tension in the town could be cut with D's sword. But there was no D, and his sword had disappeared with him. Some wretched thing was about to happen in this town, Mouka sensed, and he had a strong instinctive feeling that he ought to high-tail it out of there fast. He somehow had send some kind of message to D.

The mayor had been badly burned. Outdated medical treatments had saved his life, but there was no hope for how he would look in the long run. Mouka inevitably paid him a visit to treat him with what little he could do for his skin. Mouka struggled for twenty minutes not to gag at the smell of burning flesh; it rekindled horrific memories of his own experiences with fire.

He was trembling when he decided to buy the horses from the town. That same afternoon he left, looking strange and clumsy leading two horses and riding one out of town weighed down with supplies to leave the stormy corner of the Frontier.

There would be more waiting for him at the waystation near the valley's only entrance if he needed them or had forgotten something. Then there was the storm...

"What if I just waited?" Mouka mumbled, talking aloud. "I could camp out. All the monsters in this valley - er, most of them - have been hunted out..."

With that decision, Mouka pulled his horse off road and into the grassy, bushy hills. It was uncomfortably close to that eerie forest where Chase Delaclair's body had been buried and blessed, but for now it would serve as a kind of hiding place.

The birds here were talkative and easily communicated their information. He asked them if they had seen the man in black or a nightwalker. The birds whispered that they had not, but the air in the sky felt restless; the firemancer sighed and began to ask a group of thrushes to fly off to find them. He told them what they looked like, and what they were. Willingly, the avian messengers complied, and darted off into the afternoon sunset, to spread the news to other birds to do the same.

Content that Mouka had done all he could, he stretched out under the failing light with three horses champing on grass nearby, and hoped for the best.

-----

In actuality, the desperate pair had not gone far, nor even left the valley itself. Referring back to the early morning, when the two had taken their battle to the air, there was a brief flash of light that was not D's sword. It was instead the flash of a teleportation device, manufactured by Nobles and repaired in secret by humans who needed a quick escape. It was a one-use only contraption. The side-effects, like nausea and vomiting, only affected humans. The choice between vomit and death was hardly a choice at all when it came to close encounters with the Frontier's worst.

But where had the device taken them? How had Miranda gotten hold of one? And how did the Noble invading her body know about it?

The billowing wind vanished. It still had the taste of ashes on D's tongue as he parted his well-formed lips to breathe. His eyes swerved slowly to the left and right, and immediately recognized the forest from the trees and the dimly glowing lights in the darkness. The canopy was so thick here that it was suddenly night.

It felt like he had been lifted from the burning ruins of the mayor's house and dropped into this dreamscape, where the faeries rushed out of their homes to circle around him, squealing and laughing and joyful.

Miranda was nowhere in sight. The aura of choking darkness remained. The Hunter knew where she had gone, but he did not follow.

"What are you going to do now?" a muffled voice said, and for once it was without the usual biting sarcasm. It was as if the parasite in D's left hand was attempting its best caricature at sympathy. "Aren't you going to follow her?"

The Hunter uttered not a word. He closed his eyes and took a step backward, and turned to walk further away from the thick cloud of darkness hovering over the old ruins, deep in the forest. Instead, he walked into the deepening shadows as if they called to him.

"D?"

Further he walked. The faeries followed him, playing with his onyx black hair, braiding single strands together before untangling them. They whispered and begged with words that would lead mortal men to their death's. The beauty of the Hunter was irresistible to both mortals and these tiny, hand-sized creatures. However, he ignored them.

A few meters ahead, through the unbroken shade of the canopy, there was the sparkling, silver flash of a brook. His eyes caught the motion in the water with more than enough time to draw his sword and eradicate the water demon dwelling in its seductively crystalline clarity.

After that, he gracefully swept down to one knee and plucked up a handful of dirt as if the solidly packed earth was nothing more than pudding.

"Oh, an exorcism? Think you can find all the stuff you need in time?" the hand murmured. "And I take you're definitely gonna need a 'hand' in this. Very well."

Catching on quickly, a face formed in the palm of D's left hand. After gathering all of the proper, elemental ingredients, he began an old, multiple-times proven exercise of the elements. It was old, religious magic. With nimble fingertips, D retraced his steps to a pocket where he kept a crucifix. It was a powerful symbol against the Nobility; what did he hope it would accomplish?

When preparations had finished, the Hunter turned to stare in the direction of the ruins. As the moon fell behind a cloud, the brook turned black, and when the moon emerged again, the gorgeous youth had vanished. The only witness to the strange occurence was a small, round-faced owl perched unobtrusively among the trees.

-----

The ruins lay undisturbed. The thickening blackness was not even remotely penetrated by the moon, which seemed to hide behind the edge of the towering leaves, peering frightfully into the gloom. Only one figure moved stubbornly into the stony shadow, and slipped in between the cracks of the stonework to the rooms beyond.

Her fingertips traced the gilded work of an old desk. Then, grasping the edges with a fierce groan of wood on stone, she overturned it and observed the trapdoor underneath. The wooden table's crash barely earned her attention. She bent down, breaking the thin layer of mud and dust around the solid steel ring and pulled the trap door open. The grating squeal of old hinges and crumbling mud filled the tiny, abandoned study.

The darkness was a perfect black. But it could not muffle the small noise of pain that escaped her, nor the steady crunching of bone reknitting over and over again. In a moment, the woman was on the floor, sobbing with pain as her cybernetic arm twitched and convulsed with bioelectric fervor. Finally she reached with her right hand, and pulled near the elbow joint as hard she could. There was a tearing and ripping, finished with a resounding crack as the offensive limb finally came off. Blood spattered on the floor. The cybernetic prosthetic fell with a metal thunk in the blood. With a low moan of agony, the woman waited... and the blood falling from the empty, blackened hole began to solidify and lengthen as one mass, as if it were a balloon filling with air.

The shapes became more pronounced and obvious. Slowly, a flesh-and-blood arm formed where the prosthetic had been. With a crude smile pasted on her perfect lips, the woman gave a soft sigh of relief before resuming her search of the trap door.

However, just as she was about to slip effortlessly into the entryway, a glint of blue in the sliver of moonlight peering down caught her attention. In less than a hundredth of a second, she lurched upright and jumped toward a stone in the center of the room that had once been the roof. Before her, the Vampire Hunter stood motionless, as if he had been standing there the whole time.

"You. So you've made up your mind?" The Noble spoke with Miranda's voice.

An emotionless reply, "So it would seem."

"You truly are a heartless man. Men are right to fear you; women--" A bitter laugh escaped her mouth. Her pointed teeth shone brightly. Suddenly, she froze and went livid with apparently impotent anger. "You bastard."

The crucifix dangled from her neck. D had thrown it like a lasso in a blur of motion and caught her with it. Soon her flesh where the crucifix lay between her breasts began to smoke and burn. With a screech, she clawed at it, her head tipped back as the torque she wore began to blaze with a fiery red glow. Distracted by the pain, maybe unfamiliar with the vagaries and weaknesses of a phsyical vampiric form, the vampire threw herself to the floor and then scrambled for the open trap door.

However, two speeding wooden needles pinned her where she was by her bare feet.

With unhurried steps, D stood over her, and placed the tip of his longsword against the back of her neck, his boot in the middle of her back. Something dusty sprinkled against her skin. He could see the shimmer of metal where the torque hooked to her neck. In a quiet, strangely musing voice, he spoke the words that constituted a demonic/vampiric exorcism.

The howling rose up. She struggled and scrabbled beneath his boot, reducing her fingernails to bleeding stubs, but not after razing the stone ground with deep, impressive scores streaked with her own blood. The youth's heel, however, did not move an inch for her struggling, but held her perfectly still. Her head was likewise held still, or else the sword-point would sever her spine and spinal cord and that would be the end of it...

"You'll... have to try harder, Hunter!" the voice of the male vampire spirit snarled, panting and bucking.

D pressed the sword point down harder. Holy water dripped from a canister. The low, agonized moans of the Noble bled through the whispering heaves for air. "Leave this woman's body. I won't hesitate to kill her."

"You already... have."

D's concentration broke again... and like the wind, she flew from beneath his boot, regardless of the wooden needles pinning her to the floor which had since fallen out from her struggles. She vanished through the cracks in the stones like smoke, and D likewise followed her into the courtyard where the earth had been packed with mud and ashes from the previous battle before the rain.

The sword whistled; its motion grazed the choking fog but did not penetrate it. There was a deep throbbing buzz from the trees; the faeries heard the battle and hundreds upon hundreds were scrambling from their homes in tree hollows to flee to the scene of the bloodshed. Such a great number was amassed that a human could lose track of where the vampire had gone. The sword howled again for blood, but it was with a sad song that it sang. The faeries bustled apart as he parted a way with the sword and ran back into the forest.

However, the faeries did not cower back for long. Straining with every beat of their tiny, gloss-sheened wings, they took part in the chase with angry, high-pitched squeals that could blow a man's eardrum to pieces.

The forest seemed alive with demons. Trees that had stood still, peacefully in the light of the moon, bent toward D to snatch at his broad-rimmed hat, his hair and his cloak. But he moved unlike any creature of the Frontier, evading their grasping branches and needle-sharp twigs. Even the roots couldn't trip up the hunter in his rapid, desperate pursuit.

Suddenly, about fourteen degrees to his left, a bush exploded outwardly, and the leaves hovered rigidly for one instant before, every one of them came streaking in his direction in the blink of an eye. D lurched away and sprung into the air to dodge the majority of the lethal projectiles.

From experience, D knew that he could not die from the hundreds of tiny, razor-sharp leaves from slamming into his body, cutting open his flesh and spilling his blood to soak in the loamy forest floor. But his quarry knew that it would buy her just enough time to get away... and she was right.

D hitched to a pained stop, dropped to one knee, and then to all fours. Blood spattered noisily against his leather, staining the earth black.

Nonplussed, the dhampir stayed still in that position for innumerable seconds. Minutes passed. The faeries had given up the chase, but their angry buzz was not far behind.

Then, slowly, he raised his left hand and began pulling the razor-leaves from his body, one by one. Once they touched the earth, they began soft, harmless leaves once again. The procedure looked agonizing; thirty-seven piercing leaves later, D stood up and listened.

There wasn't a sound except for the babbling of the nearby brook. The wind took pity on D and dried the blood on his skin. With a meditative air, he lifted his finger and licked at the blood dripping from it. The scratch vanished instantly.

"It's too late now... at least you have your money."

"That's not really important anymore."

The parasite choked back a snicker. "Well. I'll have to say this is the most interesting life's gotten in a long--"

D said nothing of the abrubt silence from his left hand; he merely took his leave of the forest itself and stepped out into the scorching sunlight that constituted the bane of the vampires existence.

The fact that the vampire in Miranda's body could walk in daylight was in itself a troublesome aspect. There was no way he could know for sure that it would hinder her progress at all. D had been known for his speed and accuracy in "getting his man", but what about vampires in the literal guise of humans?

D adjusted the wide-brimmed hat on his head as he stepped out into the sun. If he was tired, his perfect posture and graceful walk, as if the earth were made for him to walk on, did not show it. The rolling, fertile hills of the valley stretched out. The birdsong went on, heedless of the battle that had continued in the forest.

Suddenly, a bird swooped low to about five feet above D's head, calling plaintively. Its warble-screech-click seemed to harbor a note of distress. This out-of-the-ordinary attempt to swoop at his head pulled his attention toward the bird.

It circled twice, energetically peeping before it dropped low and landed comfortably on the brim of his hat.

"What is it?"

The bird-chatter continued for no more than ten seconds.

"I see. Thank you."

Without another word, the Hunter took to a different path. His shadow made an odd, almost comical silhouette, with the bird taking shotgun on the broad, black hat.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday.

Author's Note: Be brutal; be kind; be whatever you wish. Read and review, or just read.

* * *

"Red rain is coming down,  
red rain,  
red rain is pouring down,  
pouring down all over me.

I am standing up at the water's edge in my dream.  
I cannot make a single sound as you scream.  
It can't be that cold, the ground is still warm to touch;  
this place is so quiet, sensing that storm..."

Peter Gabriel, "Red Rain"

"Rain, rain is the channel that no one wants to turn to.  
A series of bad signals that no one wants to belong to.  
Yet it purifies and brings purpose for the next sunny day.  
As my tears reach the edge of my nose  
They fall to meet the rains' reflection from the ground.  
In that same breath when cupid shot me down.  
So fast I wondered how, you could not  
See through the storm what life has in store for you.  
But in order to see sunshine in the end  
There would have to be rain in the beginning"

Nivea, "Rain (Interlude)"

* * *

In the cooling night, a figure lay sleeping in the grass, three horses tethered nearby and enjoying the sweet juicy goodness of nutrient-rich grasses. By the time D reached him, he was lulled by the embrace of sleep; his scarred face was hidden in the crook of his arm, curled into a ball as snugly as a kitten.

It was hard to say how Mouka could find the heart to sleep during a time where his only friends in the valley were missing. However, exhaustion was etched into his features. He seemed to wisely choose that sleep was more important than staying awake and worrying about it. Stepping around the sleeping firemancer with hurried, silent steps, he untethered his own horse and attempted to lead it away.

Mouka's eyes flickered open, and the young man barely lifted his head to spy the Hunter making his escape. "Hey, wait! You can't just leave me here! They're just as pissed at me. The townsfolk, I mean. Do you know what they'd do to a guy like me?"

"You have two horses, don't you?" The coldness chilled Mouka deeper than anything he'd ever known. It was as if the hunter's pain sucked the life and heat out of everything around him.

"Yeah, but this one belongs to--"

"Leave this valley. There's the old farmhouse just southwest of the valley's entrance. They should take you in." D mounted his horse and started off once again, never once sparing the firemancer a single glance. The sound of receding hoof beats echoed disconsolately back to Mouka's ears. He got to his feet and glared at the Hunter's back with all of his might. How could be so cold?

"I cared about her too, you know!" he shouted, but his words might have fallen on deaf ears. "Stupid dhampir..."

With a sigh, Mouka clambered onto his horse's saddle and started after him, tugging Miranda's horse along behind him.

* * *

At the valley's entrance, D appeared only minutes after reclaiming his horse. He had ridden a brutal pace to catch up with her. The scent of her was burned into his senses; it was the scent of smoke, perfume, and the forest floor. However, as the guardhouse and the closed gate came into view, so too did the bright flashes of lightning in the distance, the horizon consumed by black clouds.

"This doesn't look good. It looks even worse than when we arrived." The parasite sounded genuinely worried.

"That's too bad," D replied tonelessly as he nudged the reluctant cyborg horse forward. The sunlight receded behind him, as did the dwindling form of Mouka and the other horse. In the constant, mud-soaked storm, it would be... mildly difficult to track a single person. But if there was one thing the Hunter was known for, it was achieving nearly impossible goals. If D had reached the apex of his career, nobody could tell. He was simply the best hunter on the Frontier. Thus the man on horseback, head lifted high as if to defy the hard slap of cold rain, tempered the storm to find the woman he dared to love.

Within an hour, the mud on the road had thickened to such a degree that D was forced to dismount and lead his horse to higher ground. Even then, the electrical storm that raged above them like the thundrous spears of vengeful dieties were hurled back and forth seemed too dangerous to risk losing yet another steed. And so D walked. The rain drained his strength. Even the length of half a mile of walking seemed to exhaust him.

"This is hopeless! You won't find her in this weather! You'd be better off going to that old folksy married couple! Jon and Hena, right? Come on, D, don't be a fool!"

The parasite had a point. Rivers of mud were crashing all around him, and in the darkness and the pouring rain, the dhampir had a reasonably hard time of making out any shapes or even the scent of familiar perfume.

With the black, choking muck constantly trying to suck his boots right off of his feet, the dhampir led his horse into the rain. His sense of direction had not failed him, and so, blindly, he trudged onward.

Hours passed. Though the amount of light in the world did not change, it had already turned well into night once more, but it made no difference. A combination if sun-sickness and weakness due to every iota of energy being sapped from the running rainwater caused the hunter to stumble once or twice, until he began to see what he dared to hope was the shape of Jon and Hena's farmhouse. Thunder stole every sound from his ears and filled it with roaring.

When he finally collapsed in front of the closed gate, the halogen lights flickered on and filled the courtyard and part of the land beyond with some constant light; motion sensors had alerted the couple of his coming. In this kind of land, one never knew what could be sneaking up on one's back porch. Jon appeared on the front doorstep, wearing the same well-loved jeans and a trenchcoat, shining his own flashlight into the gloom. He jogged out in the sogging rain and shined the light on the horse first, before dropping the beam to the figure laying face-down in the muck.

"Hena!" he howled over the thunder. "Open the gods-damned gate, you old cow! It's that hunter again!"

With a mighty groan of rusted metal, the gates opened. Jon slung his automatic plasma rifle and flashlight under his arms, and reached to lift the black-clad figure from the mud, pulling and heaving him all the way to the front porch. He dumped his body there, ran back to encourage the horse to come inside the confines of the yard and shouted for Hena to shut the fence again. He left the horse in the barn before ducking onto the porch, throwing back his hood.

"He's a dhampir, all right. Must be the rain! Doesn't he know not to travel out here during autumn? Storm gets real bad in these parts..."

"Better not be dragging that big ol' cat in here all drenched in mud!" Hena huffed from the kitchen. "Is it dead?"

"Nah, idiot! It's the hunter from a few days ago. Want I should go put him in the shed then? Whew. This bastard is heavy!" Jon nudged the hunter with his boot.

It was then that the Hunter suddenly sprang to his feet, as if nothing was wrong. His eyes, however, were bloodshot and glazed in red, fixed on a distant point on the rain. The gate was still shutting itself, but before it could, a pale white hand materialized from the shadows and grabbed the metal gate hard enough to put indents in the treated alloy. A second hand joined the first, and the gears, grinding and screeching like fighting felines.

Jon noticed the gleaming sheen of steel in the Hunter's hand. Then he slowly started to back away into the house, a fear unlike anything he had ever shown before filling his eyes. "A-A-A Noble! Hena, lock the windows!"

A gleam of red glowed as it caught a beam of broad, sweeping beams of light. Her skin was like old paper, pale and yellowed, with pert, red lips. She had fed ages ago. Hena lay drained of blood in the kitchen, still clutching the mop and bucket she was preparing for her muddy guest. She had died minutes ago, while Jon was heaving the hunter through the mud.

D stepped down from the porch into the rain. Though he was bitten through with cold and weakness, there was a fading but prominent marriage of determination and resolve in those crystal blue eyes.

_Are you ready, D? _the voice from his left palm spoke, directly into his mind. _You've got one shot... and then it's all over. Come on._

The hunter soared what could be his last flight. His cloak snapped open with a wet, rain-drenched crack. The sword missed its mark, but he fell on top of the huntress, who had half-expected him to dart away before she could attack. She didn't realize that he had no intention of slashing her when her sword passed straight through his stomach to the other side.

His left hand, pale in the light, seized her around the throat. That muscular hand seemed to creak as tendons and muscles strained to keep a strong hold. As his cloak blew back in the wind, Miranda screamed again. There was a little mouth on her throat now, biting away at the metal, trying to sink jagged broken teeth into the torque. But the scrape of unholy teeth on metal was all there was. Merely touching the torque, however, had given D an opportunity to act once again. The sword in his right hand plunged deeply into her chest, turning the mud around their feet a sickening miasma of red and black. Her heart guttered; he could feel its empty drumming vibrate through the sword into his fingertips.

When she realized that she wasn't about to win this way, while D seemed to show no signs of pain at all, she released the hilt of her sword. Her freed hand raced toward his face, hoping to accomplish the impossible by clawing his eyes. But the brim of his hat was in her way. She had just barely whipped it off his head when:

_Chnk_. The torque fell into the mud, steaming as it scalded the water. "Blecch! Awful!" The voice was filled with honest, ferocious disgust.

No less than a second later, the pair parted like moths in the ghastly lights. The rain drops, like falling heavenly bodies, seemed to fall more slowly, a descending universe of light and sound. Bell-like tones filled his ears... and rainbows shined for his sight alone as his sight blurred, the mindless pain of being impaled draining him of his last strength.

The two bodies crumpled on the spot; no more sounds of battle came from them. Only the sound of rain spattering on their coats, and Jon, laying in the kitchen by his wife's body, howling and sobbing with horrific despair.

* * *

The briefest of noises caught Mouka's attention. Then there was the farmhouse, gloomily hunching in the dark like a wounded giant. He kicked his horse forward. The rain had sloughed away some time ago, but the mud was still a troublesome adversary. In light of the recent chain of events, Mouka had brought his falcon with him. The poor bird was hidden inside his coat, talons sunk into the thick leather of his jacket. As the storm complained around him, he saw two figures laying in the mud in the front yard of the farmstead.

He gasped, and leapt down from his horse. The last man standing seemed to have been frozen in place with fear, ankle-deep in muck.

The torque wasn't around Miranda's throat anymore; it must have come off and sunk into the mud, never to be seen again. "Hey...hey, you there!" Mouka shouted at Jon, whose dumb-founded eyes expressed such great and unfathomable sorrow that he seemed to have died right there on the spot.

"Wh-What the hell are you doing here? Hey... y-you're that messenger!"

The falcon's eyes peaked out from inside his jacket. It was such a small size for a falcon that it could almost have been mistaken for another species other than a bird of prey. "Yeah. What the hell happened?"

"W-We... I..." Jon suddenly remembered the automatic plasma rifle and lifted it, leveling it right at Mouka's chest. "You son of a bitch! If you hadn't brought that fucking hunter here, Hena would still be--!"

"Hey, slow down!" Mouka threw open his jacket. The tiny falcon suddenly sprang into flight, claws outstretched with a shrill scream. It went for Jon's eyes immediately. The plasma beams went hissing, way off their target into the mud. At that instant, Mouka called to the fires that burned in his soul, bathing the mud around Jon's stuck ankles with searing heat. Almost immediately the man's feet were stuck to the ground. The falcon seized its prize - a single, dangling eyeball - and flew off with it into the eaves of the house, to enjoy the rare treat in solitude.

Jon licked his thumb. "That's what you get for messin' with me. Sorry about your wife and all. This mess wasn't my doing." He snatched the rifle from the man's hand and tossed it onto the porch.

He saw the crumpled bodies of D and Miranda, and hesitantly moved toward them. On the one hand, Mouka was afraid of them. Somehow the scene of the battle here reeked to high heaven of the most unnatural. And he had no idea if it was because they were dead, or because they were still somehow alive.

With a quiet cough, he knelt and brushed the mud away from D's face. He felt a little anxious to be so close to the dhampir; he seemed very, very dead. With a mighty heave, he dragged him back into the porch and into the house, laying him on the floor, and then tucking one of the chair cushions under his head as an afterthought. He followed suite by giving Miranda the same treatment, and finally washing D's hat off in the sink, since it had been filled up with mud.

Jon merely was a one-eyed witness to all of this. Mouka considered what to do with him; the man looked like he had lost his mind completely. Taking the shovel by the porch, he took aim and WAMF - Jon dropped like a stone, his feet still stuck in the mud. Mouka apologized to nobody in particular as he dug out his feet and chained him to the porch. The rain's penchant for causing depression was beginning to make a bit more sense to the firemancer, whose only comfort was the warmth of a strong fire. He put the horses all in the stable and returned to the house.

There was almost no wood left, but he piled it all up and burned it anyway in the hearth. D's body, slathered in mud, seemed to soak up the heat and give some warmth to his unearthly pallor.

The swords he had long since pulled from their bodies and wiped them off. He felt weird, cleaning strange people's swords. He didn't use weapons such as these when he had his own magic; however, he felt there was a strange importance of washing the blades of blood and filth. He placed them beside the fireplace as if they too needed to get warm.

"What the hell will I do now?" the young man sighed, squatting down beside the unconscious pair. Miranda seemed to be alive... but how long would that last? It seemed the torque had finally been removed. Yet she was suffering from a large scale injury; a sword through the chest normally killed humans and Nobles alike. He found it distasteful to remove a woman's clothing while she was unconscious, but he had no choice. Even if he wasn't a doctor, Mouka had to try.

Trying not to blush with youth's vigor at seeing such a beautiful woman, even in her age, bared before him, he examined her injury with a mind bent on healing. He hadn't yet known that his fire could be used to heal as well as destroy, but then nobody came to a man who could make fire to cure their ills. He stroked her soaked hair out of her face. She seemed to be breathing. However, her wound was neither bleeding nor puffing any air as though having punctured a lung. He inspected it more closely and realized that the impaled sword had not touched a single vital organ or severed an artery or vein. It was still filthy and required cleaning, but she would no more die from the wound than she would die from a mosquito bite. Her real fear was the threat of infection.

Mouka was struck by amazement. That the hunter laying not two feet away could strike such a blow with surgical precision and at the same time incapacitate his enemy...

He spent the following hour doing his best to clean the wound. With a special manipulation, he seared her wounds shut. With the smell of blood on his hands, he left the living room if only to wash them. He kept a close eye on D; the man seemed to grow paler by the second again. "What do I do?" he moaned in worry, returning to his side. "You can take a blow like nobody's business and not die. I've heard it. You're a bloody dhampir!"

Then it struck him. With the rainwater and the combination of so much sunlight in the valley, maybe the hunter was suffering from a night-deprived torpor. He grit his teeth. The only way to sway the direction of that inner battle was to bury him outside. Or maybe...

"Outside," Mouka grumbled. He was still wet from being out there. With a mighty heave, he lifted the hunter over his back while he knelt on the floor, before standing up. He wobbled, crashed to the floor, but stubbornly attempted the feat again. Who knew how much the hunter weighed with all of his equipment? Mouka laid him down on the floor, panting with effort, and started to unbuckle anything that could weigh him down. When the work was done, the hunter wore shirt, suit, and boots. It wasn't that much easier, but once Mouka had stood up and got moving, he wasn't going to stop until he was inside the barn.

In there, it was a little dryer. He laid the hunter down on the straw and started to use another shovel to dig up as much dirt as he possibly could. He piled it up high. The only witness to this macabre burial ceremony was the small falcon nesting high up in the eaves and the silent, corpse-like Hunter.

"There!" Mouka grunted, collapsing on a bale of hay. "That ought to get you through the day. Whew!"

The house provided his morning breakfast. It was lonely, watching over Miranda as she slept covered in blankets with only the rain pattering on the window panes. There weren't many birds to talk to here except the half-starved chickens.

The day dragged onward without another soul in the storm.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D or the Frontier or any items therein; he's the sole creation of two people, Hideyuki Kikuchi and that Amano guy, really cool guys who I'd like to meet.. someday.

Author's Note: Be brutal; be kind; be whatever you wish. Read and review, or just read.

* * *

_When it rains  
do you sleep through it?  
Do you face the day?  
Do I make you feel like you're in the way?  
And when it's sunny, do you stick around  
when it shines  
and I come by your house to close the blinds _

And you, you change, 'cause I hardly ever see you when it rains  
could you please call me  
please and make my day.

When it rains we get worried dear,  
think that we don't want you here  
And under the blue sky your no longer safe,  
you're no longer mine  
and you said you would come rain or shine.

Maria Mena, "When It Rains" lyrics

* * *

A soft moan broke the monotony of falling rain. Encased in a layer of slightly damp dirt, his limbs were stiff as if actually sealed by granite. There was a taste in the back of his throat until he swallowed, and that quickly went away as he began to breathe more easily. He could smell dirt, ash, blood, and cedar. He could feel the wetness of leather sticking to his skin, and the grit of dirt between his fingers. A dhampir's first instinct is to dig away at the dirt around his body, but surprisingly D simply refused to move. He kept his eyes shut, refused reality, denied his existence, and wished as hard as he could for sleep.

However, fate allied with nature against him and he was forced to awaken, birthed out of the dirt, filthy in mud and dirt and dried, old blood. Except the blood on his clothing was not his own. He remembered, and the searing memory interrupted his breathing, sapped the strength out of his legs. Her _eyes_. Bright with pain and betrayal and then, somehow, release.

He left the barn and stepped out into the rain, quickly crossing the yard to the front porch. His hat covered his eyes, the pupils enlarged against the darkness. He knew where he was the moment he fixed his eyes on the looming farmhouse some several yards ahead in the rain. He knew the sound he was hearing, subvolume to the rain pattering on the drenched earth. It haunted his sleep, his every waking moment, when his blood ran thin and weak. He stepped quietly back into the barn, and lit a lantern with his flint. At least it was dry inside.

By that feeble light, he filled a small cup he carried with him with rain water, letting the rain collect before he set it aside. Two pills. His last for awhile. He dropped them into the water, watched the clear liquid thicken and darken to black, then red. He downed it all in three effortless gulps.

He was just rinsing the cup with more rain water when he heard footsteps. Once again Mouka had failed to sneak up on him, but he knew the man had stopped trying.

The younger man's fiery gaze softened a bit. "It's good that you're awake. I was beginning to think you were in it for the long sleep."

"What do you know about the long sleep?" D questioned, his voice failing to express any emotion whatsoever. He was shocked a little to hear it. Even on a bad day, he had some sense of feeling. Some.

"N-Nothing," Mouka replied. "I just thought, y'know, after all you've been through--" He cleared his throat, and answered the unspoken question. "You've been snoozing for a couple of days. That farmer John character's resting in the house, too, but... I kind of hit him pretty hard with a shovel and I probably shouldn't have done that." There was a marked wince of regret. "He _was_ trying to kill me, though. How are you feeling?"

D said nothing. He was staring out through the tiny window, into the rain. He found himself quietly wishing for his own oblivion, that ceaseless dark rest where even his spirit didn't continue. But that would never come. Oblivion waited for those at the sharp end of his blade; it was not for him, not so soon. He heard his dark, velvet voice murmur, "Where is she?"

"She's sleeping, too. Not awake yet. She's over in the house. Don't worry, my falcon's watching over her." Mouka shook the rain out of his eyes, and stared at D. The dhampir seemed all but made of stone at that moment. "Did you think you had killed her?"

"I was almost hoping that I had."

"What!" Mouka's jaw dropped. "Why?!"

D refrained from answering. His eyes were black with his own private memories. Between one blink and the next, he disappeared. Mouka spun around, managing to spot him as he took one bound up the steps and disappeared into the house. Mouka clumsily stumbled after him, his feet sticking in the mud, terror filling him with the realization of what D meant - and was born - to do.

"No, D! Don't!"

* * *

The grass was green and fragrant in the sunlight. Tulips, petunias, and crysanthemums sprinkled the hillside, capable of taking anyone's breath away. In the distance, the mountains ranged high, topped with snow, like mounds of frozen, delicious ice cream. The lake was a shining gem, blinking sunlight as the clouds gently passed over. It was all too perfect, as if godly hands made a godly landscape.

Miranda found herself hating it.

She tore up the flowers, the grass, spat in the lake, her heart pounding with such abominable hatred. Of anything, she was sure: this was not meant for her. It was meant for some other woman. It was a dream that young girls should have, of becoming princesses to rule such a landscape, of princes and white horses. This was not for her, a wretched monster, a metal creature whose heart still beat at the expense of her sanity and her self-esteem. She sank down to the grass and wept. It was so beautiful to look at that it hurt her eyes.

She had no idea how long she had been laying there, tucked in between two trees, until she looked up and realized the sun was setting. As she looked, the western horizon darkened ever more quickly. She directed her attention away from the mountains, down to the valley. The shadows lengthened, turning the grass midnight blue, the flowers gray and unattractive shapes. There, cresting a hill, a man on horseback was approaching her. His sword was drawn, and his black hair streamed behind him, like the banners of a tall and dark ship.

She stood to face him. He seemed to veritably fly over the grasses to her. He raised his sword, as the distance closed. Her heart leapt, not for fear, but for sadness. There would be no night for her either. Because he would come, to claim his right as a Hunter. The dream was shattered. The mountains, the lake, and the quiet unobtrusive flowers swaying in the breeze.

No. This was not her dream.

It was his.

With that thought, she opened her eyes, waking from the sleep that had taken her away. There was a painful hole in her chest, as if someone had thrust their hand through it and ripped out her spine. The candle light dimmed, and the air chilled even as she drew her next breath. The room grew tighter, and the presence that had disturbed her out of her sleep was suddenly there at the foot of the bed, the wide, black brim of a hat casting a demonic shadow on the comforter.

He drew closer. Cold, judgmental steel shined in her eyes. "I won't miss this time."

"D." Miranda reached toward her throat. Her voice felt so raw, and she was thirsty beyond compare. The sadness from the dream came away like the layers she slept under. Her fingers touched the marks of the torque, but more than that, a little closer to her jugular. Two tiny little bumps.

The eyes under the hat turned red. As if her discovery prompted action, the Hunter jerked toward her, the sword thrusting. There was no way in Hell she would be able to stop that blade from severing her life from her body. And yet she reached out with the same speed, with one idea in mind alone, and that was simply to live. The candles blew out; the falcon called out shrilly as it dove for D, but it compacted swiftly into his left hand, which he used to effortlessly knock the bird of prey aside. With his right, the sword had stopped just inches above the skin of her chest, above her heart.

Beads of sweat and effort dripped down her forehead. Blood dripped from the sword, spotting her comforter, while her two hands clapped tightly on the blade. One easy twist would take off her fingers or her entire hands.

Her eyes shone like gems. "D, stop."

"I must kill you," he replied calmly. A remarkable contrast to his calm voice was the way the sword and the way his arm shook. He was pushing with all of his strength; she was holding him back.

What kind of creature had Miranda become, even at half the strength of a vampire? To begin with, how had she even becom one in the first place? Not a lot of people knew whether dhampirs could turn others for sure. But D had always proven to be capable of resisting such a temptation.

The unnatural figure of the hunter finally moved. It was with a backwards step that he relieved the pressure on the sword and held it at his side. A tremor of terror raced through the woman's body. Still that slight sadness in her eyes, changed so dramatically and deeply from the sores that time had left. Dhampir and almost-vampire gazed across eternity in that tiny farmhouse bedroom, neither of them understanding just what was expected of them in such a situation...

What if D, who killed his own kind for interminable decades, loved his prey so much that he could not plunge his blood-stained sword into that beloved heart? And that mystery still: how did she become the loathsome monster that others so despised?

"How did you know?" she whispered, gazing sideways.

It was at that moment that Mouka tumbled up the stairs, cradling his falcon in his hands. His eyes were huge. "Whoa, just in time! Damn it! You could have killed Sasera, you know that?!" He held the bird of prey close, whispering to her quietly. Dazed but not injured, the creature offered a small noise to acknowledge his words.

D offered no apology.

Mouka felt the tension in the room, and took a breath for strength. "Now what? You're...not going to slay her, are you?" The firemancer gave a little nervous chuckle. He saw there was no blood on the walls, sheets or floor, and sighed with some relief.

Hidden from sight beneath that shadowed hat, D's mind was racing and working. He stood completely still, as if a basilisk had struck him with its stone breath and made him solid forever. Miranda slid out of bed, wearing one of Hena's slips, and wrapped the top blanket around her shoulders. Her skin was pale and utterly perfect, although she was now on the slightly gaunt side. Thunder rattled the windows as lightning burst open the heavens.

Mouka advanced three steps to the bed, and nestled the falcon in the grey sheets. Then he picked up the falcon, sheets and all, and took her downstairs.

"We'll probably be down in a-a few minutes," Miranda called after him, her voice dropping to a whisper as she heard the door close. Then there was a blanket of silence, except for the rumbles in the distance, as if the storm were suddenly very far away.

"D," she whispered. "How did you know?"

The statue moved his eyes, for all the good the shadows did to hide it. "You don't remember." Blank as a sheet of paper. Blank as white, blinding death.

Miranda approached his left side. The sword was clenched in his right hand. She reached up, very slowly, to close her hand around his wrist to encourage him to speak, silently urging him to lie to her, to tell her what wasn't about to leave his lips. Miranda felt suddenly tired, and found herself not caring to hear anything else at all. She clung to the hope that gave her strength to strive forward. Her mind started telling her, _So what, so what if I'm one of the Nobility? It's not the worst thing that ever happened to me and it probably won't be the last. After all, D tried to kill me and then he didn't want to anymore; there's got to be something inside him that isn't made of pure, cold steel._

"Then I guess I have no choice but to explain to you how it happened," D suddenly said. Miranda nearly jumped out of her skin. He put his hand on her shoulder, if only to push her back. Then with a squeak of metal, he sheathed the terrifying blade. Miranda sat down on the very edge of the bed, leaning forward as if to hear him better. She wished he would take off his hat, so that she could at least try to read whatever emotions captured in that stony face. The impartial blankness of his voice froze the blood in her marrow. _And what kind of blood is it now? _she reminded herself. _What kind is it?_

She listened as he began: "Do you remember, as we lay down together, where I'd placed the small chest with the torque inside of it? I had put crosses inside with it, and garlic cloves, and every manner of charm to seal the vampire spirit's power. Then I had hidden it far from you, understanding fully well that he would try to influence you. What I had not foreseen was how poorly weakened the minds of everyone who lived here. They are all just human. It seemed the spirit could move, even if a limited distance at will, a ghost with a bloodthirst. As I understand it, he waited for us to return that night--"

Miranda fidgeted, anger edging her voice with impatience. "Just tell me if you turned me, D! Tell me if it's even possible!"

"It is," D replied calmly, and continued without fail, "--when we returned that night, you spoke words to me, Miranda. And I believed them. I must have believed them because we shared the same bed, without any regrets, and I thought I had never known such... such happiness. It felt so right that it hurt. I never thought I'd get a chance to tell you... thank you."

Miranda's anger melted away effortlessly beneath his carefully chosen words. She physically inched backward, making herself comfortable, eyes shining. Her tongue felt numb as she mumbled, "That's okay, no need to thank me, I... I was happy to make you happy."

His eyes seemed to shine softly. He stepped closer to her, caressing her hair with his left hand, slowly, as if to memorize each strand. What wonder that filled his heart! How tragic that this news should come between them, so soon after their loving. "The vampiric ghost of the House Delaclaire came into our room after you fell asleep, having enough strength to possess one of the maids. He turned you with the last ounce of his strength, and you left the bed shortly afterward. Despite the great pain it caused you, you unlocked the chest and reached inside, the crosses burning, raising the smell of burning flesh, and plucked the torque free. You put it on... the spirit possessed you. I saw it all. The worst of it was... _I could think of nothing I could do to stop it_."

At this injecture, his hand that had been lovingly caressing her hair stopped, and fell away. He clenched his left hand. "I don't know what happened to it after that. In this weather... it must have disappeared forever in the mud, never to be seen again."

Miranda gave a slight shudder. She seemed to remember the feel of a young girl's teeth in her throat, touching her fingertips to the marks. Her eyes shut tightly. "But D... you see, it wasn't you. And it wasn't your fault. So you've nothing to blame yourself for. What's done is done. I don't know what to do but at the moment, I don't really care. It's not as if we've got anything to worry about now."

"Except," said a voice, "the little tiny problem of you being a Noble!"

Miranda jumped off the bed and hissed, "What the devil was that?"

D relaxed, and he seemed slightly mortified. "...I apologize." He reluctantly lifted his right hand, and turned the palm upwards. A grotesque little face was nestled there within the folds of pale, immortal flesh, scowling away as if the whole world could sink to Hell and burn forever.

"It was ME, and I'm only just a little pissed that he never introduced me to you. See, he never liked me much, and has this habit of keeping me a secret. Oh, don't worry! I won't eat you... and no, before you even _think_ that I was there when you two had your little love party--"

D frowned. "That's enough. Miranda... this is a ... parasite. We stumbled across one another ages ago. He's been stuck in my left hand ever since... and I do apologize. He's actually proven quite useful in the past."

"I'm sure," the parasite spat, "that you'll remember the times I've saved your ass from killing us both, you moron!"

Miranda covered her mouth to hide what might have been a laugh or a gasp of offense. Either way, she dropped her hand with a smirk pasted firmly on her lips. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you already know who I am so I'm not gonna bother with an introduction. Wow. I...This is really weird, D; why didn't you say something before?"

D looked down with a sigh. "I didn't think you'd be all that _excited_."

"Well, I'm a little shocked but I'm not excited."

"Can we talk about what we're going to do, please?" the parasite complained. "The rain is getting on my nerves. I say we rest just enough to hightail it out of this hole and get ourselves as far away from this storm as possible."

"I kind of agree," Miranda sighed. "But... are we only traveling at night now?"

"I suppose we have to," D confirmed softly, hinting at some slight unhappiness. "Which means all of us will be working around your schedule."

"Oh. Oh, that sounds just peachy. Mouka's going to love this, assuming he wants to come with us." Miranda sat down. Her eyes had a redness in them, and she rubbed her jaw agitatedly. "A dhampir and his freaky hand, a vampire, and a firemancer and his bird. What the hell kind of crew is this?"

The atmosphere had lightened, but the taint of truth still blackened one heart. It hung over his head like a swaying guillotine, waiting to plunge downward and forever sever the heart from the rest of his body. The pair walked down the stairs, Miranda leading them ahead, and spotted Mouka in the kitchen, bustling clumsily as if he were unaccustomed to the domestic role of dinner-cooker.


End file.
